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Dear Ezra: Month Three

  • Tagged The kids, The letters
  • Commenters Mikal

Today you are three months old. Not that it shows. To strangers who dare to guess, you’re pegged to be around six months. We’ve run into one-year-olds who would lose to you in a fight. You are a big kid. Of course, we expected this, and we find it nothing short of adorable. We are also thankful for the compulsory workout we get whenever we pick you up.

What a month this has been. You took you first plane flight, to New England for your coming out party, and with that trip you doubled the number of states you’ve visited to an impressive six. At this pace you’ll have visited the whole country by age 2. You’ll already be on track for a presidential run, just like your parents planned.

You continue to develop new tricks, though we’re never sure which will take and which are fleeting anomalies. The most significant, parents’-sanity-wise, is your newfound love for the taste of your own fingers. You haven’t gotten the thumb down yet, but oh how you love those other four. It’s a sad day when one learns your parents won’t always be there for you (be it with a pacifier or a car), so we’re thankful you’ve discovered this lesson early on, and more importantly, found a charming way to deal with it.

Speaking of finding things — ever since you found your smile, you haven’t stopped. This month, with all your travel by subway, you’ve learned how to use it to flirt with strangers. Lately, smiling just doesn’t cut it, and if we’re not paying you enough attention, you shift into second gear: chatterbox. You LOVE the sound of your own voice. Your parents love it too (often to the dismay of fellow restaurant patrons), so if your plan here is to express your discomfort, you’ve chosen the wrong strategy — every time you speak up we sit and stare and smile in wonder.

While you’re not yet dexterous enough to play me in chess, you are learning how to grab things. A few days ago you even pulled out your pacifier by its strap — then PUT IT RIGHT BACK IN. We stared in awe, sure that it was a one in a million shot, only to see you do it immediately again. Chess may not be too far off.

So instead of board games we play Superman. I hold you in the air, belly down, while you look around the world for a damsel to save. I’m very impatient for the days when I can throw you around and wrestle with you, so in the meanwhile I’m doing this, warming up my muscles and at the same time getting you subconsciously ready. It appears I don’t need to worry — you unequivocally love it. Holding you up will almost always eviscerate a bad mood. I think the novelty of the new perspective seizes your curiosity and makes you forget whatever was making you sour. Perhaps you have a career ahead of you as a vigilante superhero.

Or perhaps something else. We spend a lot of time wondering what you’ll be. Every so often we’ll see little glimpses of your personality bubble up to the surface, and it’s wonderful. Even when that personality erupts into a volcano of screams and tears, we think it’s wonderful. You can’t not be cute.

Tomorrow it’s fall. Soon you’ll get your first breath of crisp fall air, and we’ll finally get to break out some of the cuter, cozier parts of your wardrobe. School is many years away for you, so for now, fall gets to simply mean the trees changing colors and baseball playoffs on TV. I know you’ll love them both.

Love,
Papa

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