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Dear Ezra: Month Two

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Dear Ezra,

Your smile kills me. It overtakes your face, your eyes roll up in your head, your mouth opens wide, and you grunt out tiny half-giggles. Your dad and I cannot get enough. We tickle your chest, tousle your hair, kiss your cheeks, talk to you in a crazy high-pitched voice, all in hopes of getting just one of your gorgeous grins. And as this month has gone on, you’ve started providing them more and more each day. In the last week, you’ve started matching them with new sounds – coos and sighs of delight.

Your unbearable cuteness (not at all diminished by your recently accelerating hair loss) is supplemented by your new propensity for sleep. Most afternoons you take a good 2-3 hour nap, and many nights in the last few weeks you’ve managed a 5-6 hour stretch of sleep that makes me feel infinitely more rested than I have since you were born. When you wake up, as I have every day for the last two months, I lift you to my shoulder, loving the snuffling sounds you make in my ear and your hungry kisses on my neck.

You’ve made great strides in finally understanding where to get your hunger satisfied. For weeks you were exactly as likely to turn 180 degrees away from my breast as towards it. But even now that you’re facing the right way, in desperation to eat you still just open your mouth wide and suck on whatever is right in front of you. Your fist, your forearm, my hand. You’ve tried to nurse through my shirt. And nothing I do can dissuade you of the idea that if I’d let you put both your hand and my nipple in your mouth it would be the best thing ever.

This month, we’ve found the magic of using your sucking reflex to calm you. You can suck on your dad’s pinky for hours, and he’s quite a trooper about it, twisting into contortions in the car to get you a soothing finger. For a while my mom was the only person who could get you to take a pacifier, but suddenly you love it, and a few nights ago, you kept it in your mouth by yourself for over an hour.

We’ve gotten to go to three movies this month, thanks to the incredibly devoted babysitting team of Nana Adrienne and Papa Syd. They will go to any lengths to make you happy, up to and including hauling out a didgeridoo to lull you to sleep.

Last time we came to pick you up, my mother said, “his eyes are just like my father’s.” I never saw her father’s eyes. Both of my grandfathers died before I was born. You are so lucky to have all four of your grandparents showering you with love and attention, not to mention five uncles and an aunt who is dying to meet you.

You’ve had adventures this month. Brunch at the new restaurant at the Art Institute with Grandma Amy, Great-Great-Uncle Bob, and Great-Aunt Martha. A block party at my parent’s house where you got sprinkled by a visiting fire truck. Camping in Wisconsin. Through it all, you’ve maintained your calm, low-key attitude. We hoped so much when we were pregnant that you’d be the kind of kid we could take with us to all these great places, and so far you’ve been amazing.

I’m looking forward to more adventures next month — you’ll be taking your first plane flight — but it’s the tiny everyday things that really take my breath away. The way you make sucking motions with your mouth while you sleep, even when nothing is in your mouth. The way you arch your back up in delight when we tickle your forehead with the hairbrush. The way you grin and make googly eyes at my nipple like you’ve got a huge crush on it. The way you rediscover your arms and legs with wide, luxurious stretches when I unwrap you from your swaddle after a long sleep.

We are so very lucky to get to spend every day with you.

Love and kisses,


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