My dearest Wesley:
What a difference a year makes. This was you exactly one year ago today:
And though your 4 month photographs have yet to be taken and so not posted here for comparison, I think you’ll trust us when we say how much you’ve grown since your pinhead yolky days of yore. What has not is our aweness of you, same today — no, greater even, if that’s possible — as this day last year when we saw the promise you were on our way to us. And truth be told, your head is just as round and large today as the yolk your papa mistook for a head in 2008. But I can say that with love because I am your mama.
It’s true you’re bigger, almost double your birth weight, and taller, so tall and so wriggly I finally had no choice but to trade the sleep sack for pajamas, size 9 month ones at that, and even they after washing have maybe one inch to give before becoming a thing of the past. I thought the problem was just footed wear, not realizing until literally yesterday that collars pulled down to your chest and three-quarters of your diaper sticking out the crotch and sides meant all the outfits you’ve been wearing were too small. Silly mama.
Each night still, when your papa would prefer to go to sleep but I become all chatty, I spy you in the video monitor and ask out loud how it can be that you’re so perfect, so cute, so much our little Monchhichi. I delight in watching your froggy bent legs one minute and your kicking them way up in the air the next, your hand to forehead routine, the sucking motions and sounds you make even when the pacifier has long fallen out of your mouth. Of late, you’ve even gifted us with — gasp! — 12 hour stretches of uninterrupted sleep. In that department, don’t change a thing kid.
In the mornings, I hear you cooing and screeching, talking up a storm with yourself in the mirror or some other thing in the room: perhaps a shadow, maybe a ray of light creeping through the curtains? When I am dragging my feet at 7 am, you entertain yourself just long enough for me to get my act together and come get you. I wonder what personality you will develop, if you’ll prefer such times alone or your mama often by your side. Sometimes I worry you don’ t laugh or smile as much as other babies, but then your Mimi plays peek-a-boo with you one day and receives the most raucous laughs to have ever come up your little throat. It is a dream to hear you laugh.
How many firsts in this last month alone Wesito! The way you reach for toys and grab them, how you manage with some haphazard aim to get them to your mouth now. You grab a hold of milky bottles, tilt them as needed to try and feed yourself. You rolled and you “swam,” went on your first Disney ride (Spaceship Earth, to be exact) and attended your first birthday party. You whacked yourself in the face. You tried to sit up, even if just to topple forward. But even if there’d been no firsts, what would it matter, really? Even without the new, all days become replete just by your WeFo-ness, all days with you brimming with magic and wonder and light.
All my love, forever,