Dear M,

Today you are two weeks old. We took you to the doctor today. You have gained back your birth weight and then some, coming in at 9 lbs. 8 oz. This puts you in the 90%ile for weight. You have sprouted up to 22 1/2 inches which puts you above 95%ile for height, just like your older sister. Someday when you’re grown you will read this and be astounded that we cared about such utterly minute details.

You’ve had two baths so far. You tolerated the second one much better than the first, but I must say that you have quite a temper. Ah, the heart wants what it wants, no?—faster diaper changes, a room without drafts, car seats without annoying buckles, boobs that appear instantly and fully stocked. I am predicting you to be an extraverted, tempestuous one. Your crying doesn’t grate on me (usually) like it would have the first time around—more on that in a minute.

After your bath last night it appears that your hair is lightening slightly, although your coloring is still rosy, with more olive tones than your sister. We are predicting your dad’s brown hair and brown eyes for you, as well as his capacity for tanning rather than burning, which C and I definitely lack.

About those eyes—they are very clear and bright, despite being darkish in color. I love to peek into your cradle or crane my neck to see you on my shoulder, eyes open, curious and calm, taking everything in. You seem very determined to hold your head up, and MaDear is insistent that you are smiling at all of us.

One of my favorite of your “smiling” photos is you lying on a quilt made by the sewing circle at church. C received her quilt when she was born—it is pink, purple and blue with stars. We weren’t even at the church yet—hers was made by just one member of the church, the wife of the finance committee chair (who had reason to know that I was pregnant). Yours was made and signed by the entire sewing group, and is bright orange and navy blue with zoo animals. I love them both. In the picture, you’re smiling on your quilt and C is smiling on hers, spread out right beside you, twin magic carpets.

Immediately after the picture was taken, your diaper failed and the quilt got peed on.

You have shown incredible mercy to your father and me by sleeping very well at night. You doze throughout the evening, then I nurse you at 11 or so and get you tucked into bed by midnight. You’re in a borrowed cradle that sits right next to our bed. You sleep until 6 or 7, when I simply must wake you up to feed you (you’ll understand why this is necessary if you ever nurse a baby). Then you sleep until 8:30 or 9, when you have second breakfast, followed by elevensies, then we’re on to a couple of lunches, teatime, dinner and supper. Yes, you’re our little hobbit.

Again with the mundane details.

At least, I hope these are all mundane details… We neglected to change your diaper first thing yesterday morning, so by second breakfast you had quite the poop-encrusted butt. I hope and trust that, although we felt guilty about it, it has not impacted your life in any way at this point.

In fact, that is one thing you get this time around that C did not have—a mommy who is able to see the big picture. Poor C had to deal with a mother who universalized every trying period. Every difficult growth-spurt feeding frenzy, every napless day, was destined to be The Way It Will Be Forever. Ha! I know better now. I’m telling you this in a vain effort to keep you from making the same mistake in judgment that I did, but if you’re anything like me you’ll have to learn it for yourself.

Well, I’d like to write to your sister next, so I’ll sign off.

Love,
Your mother