A belated letter to my son

Dear Wesley,

It has been a while since I wrote to you. For that, I sincerely apologize.  It's not because I didn't want to write - there have been many times when I've had a post mentally composed, but by the time I get in front of a computer, the words are lost or jumbled. At this point, you've been out of the womb nearly as long as you were in.

I know that some people say that a second child immediately fit in to their lives - "like they'd been there all along" or "we can't remember a time without him/her." To be honest, you didn't fit in to our lives immediately. In our hearts, yes, without a doubt. But it took longer than I expected to feel like we'd even started to figure this family-of-four thing out. I felt like we were all awkward dance partners - tripping, cutting, flailing from one song to the next. Fortunately, after a few weeks, we fell in to a smooth rhythm, and it truly did feel like the four of us were a perfect fit. We wouldn't trade you for the world.

Your first six or so weeks were full of a distinct pattern - eat, sleep, scream-cry, repeat. It wasn't a very enjoyable time for any of us. But after the end of your sixth week, your alert awake times were no longer dreadful. There were times when you would look at us with your then-dark blue eyes and just stare. Not scream. Just stare. And sometimes you'd even grace us with your gummy smile. You would think it was Christmas when you flash your grin around here, buddy - we all acted like idiots trying to get you to smile more, to laugh a little bit, to see more of your happy self emerge day by day.

Soon after you truly emerged from your colic-y times, I returned to work, and I felt like I'd barely gotten a chance to get to know the "real" you. Even though I feel like I miss a lot while I'm at work, I have learned a few things about you in the last several months.

I've learned that you are extremely smart. I think you are far wiser than you should be at such a young age. Your meltdowns during your sister's bedtime would immediately turn to coy smiles when I rush to leave her room because you were fussing so much. You knew exactly what you were doing - you wanted undivided, immediate attention, and that definitely hasn't changed. When you are mad or sad, you are 100% mad or sad. But the minute you get the attention you're seeking, you smile, laugh, talk and you're like an entirely different little person. You've surprised us with this calm, cheerful demeanor - many times when we've been most concerned about how you'll behave, like on a trip to Disney or during our family photos, and you've been happy and patient and peaceful. (Your sister, on the other hand, has often been quite the opposite, but that's another letter for another day.) This has become the norm for you - as long as your most basic of needs are met, you're perfectly content and are usually happy to just go with the flow.

I've learned that you adore your sister. I absolutely love watching you two. You immediately perk up when you hear her voice. You have a look of awe with a dash of anxiety thrown in when she's around - the anxiety is understandable because she tends to be a bit "in your face" and hand-grabby. But you're enchanted. If you were nursing (usually a very focused time for you) and you heard her voice, you'd stop and look around until you found her. She loves you to pieces. She insists on "doing something to him" before she leaves a room - she always wants to "kiss ya." I don't think she's even considered that some day soon you'll kiss back, or that you'll toddle behind her and try to mimic her every move.

I've learned that you pack on the pounds like it's your job. You're filling out each day - you quickly lost the bony butt that you were born with. You certainly enjoy eating. You have gotten so long that it's unbelievable. People constantly guess that you are much older than you are and remark on your size.

I've learned your different cries. I don't think I was ever able to pinpoint your sister's cries like I can identify your hungry cry, your tired cry, your gassy cry, your lonely cry or your general discomfort cry.

I've learned that you're very much a people person. You respond quickly and appropriately to every word directed to you, every smile or coo that a stranger or friend shares. Your daycare provider's husband has deemed you the absolute happiest baby ever, and again, as long as your basic needs are met, you really are. You even survive, happily, with far less sleep during the day than should be humanly possible for someone your age.

I've also learned that you're going to push limits and be my troublemaker. Not out of malicious or vindictive intent, but just out of pure curiosity and disregard to potential danger. You grab at things that you shouldn't. You grin when told "no" or to "stop it." You've attempted many a roll or drop from your changing table, and I'm convinced that you will give me far more gray hairs than your sister ever did in her first two years. 

You're also pretty ticklish.

Until recently your principle mode of transportation was seamless rolls - you effortlessly rolled in one direction or another to reach your desired location. Now you prefer to army crawl, grunting with effort with every heave of your weighty little body. Without seeing you, I can tell when you're beelining for the cats, because the grunts are punctuated with an excited squeal or high growl. As you near true crawling, I can see that we will be constantly challenged by your speed, determination and intrigue.

You, my sweet boy, have reminded me how fun this whole baby thing can be (you know, except the whole first two months of pure and utter colic-y chaos - have I mentioned that wasn't a fun time?). You soak everything in and copy so much and just leave me amazed that we made you, that you're ours, and that this is just the beginning. You're an intense little dude, and while I can definitely see parts of your sister in your looks, your dad tells me constantly that you look just like him when he was a baby. One thing is for sure - you very much look like your dad's father, Grandpa Bob. You have his nose, and I can only hope you also get his intelligence, work ethic and wit, too.

Already, you have grown and changed and developed from a squishy, cranky newborn to a solid, happy infant in the blink of an eye. I know the changes won't stop - and I don't want them to - but at the same time, I wish I could slow down time, or freeze parts ... you're my favorite little guy, and I marvel at all that you are, and all that you will be. I look forward to your laughs, noises and smiles constantly. I listen to you sigh in your sleep and feel a peace wash over me. I could listen to you babble forever - your innocent little baby noises are absolutely adorable, and I know that as quickly as you evolved from baby grunts to baby babbles, you'll speak real words, and soon you'll be a vocal toddler just like your sister.

I'm not rushing any parts of your infancy (well, nothing after the colic, because really, that was hard, and I am thankful you emerged from that with such a cheerful disposition), but it is certainly flying by. It is definitely now hard to remember a time before you, and you make our family complete and our hearts full. I look forward to learning more about who you are and delighting in your happy, curious personality - you are so incredibly special to us, and I hope you always know that.

Love,
Mama (P.S. Work on saying that, please.)