Two Months with Henry

You’re two months old, Henry, and it’s true what they say. It goes too fast. I said it when you were one month old, and I posted a picture of you in our rocking chair.

With your squishy little cheeks and your wrinkled up forehead, and your newborn diaper was about half the size of your torso. I said it’s true, they grow up too fast. And now here we are. A month later and I posted another pic of you.

You’re still in newborn diapers, but they fit more around your butt, like you’d think a diaper should. Your face has filled out and your eyes are brighter. You’re so chill, just looking calmly at the camera and I’m thinking, what was one month like? It has been hard, and exciting and exhausting and new. But it’s such a beautiful blur and it makes me sad that it’s moving so fast. So I thought I better write down some things about two months before it’s gone too.

You are 8 pounds, 15 ounces, and 21.5 inches long. This is apparently tiny, because the doctors’ growth charts put you at about the 0.65th percentile. Which would mean that in a room of 100 babies, you would be smaller than the smallest. I’m 100% sure you would also be cuter than the cutest. You’re gaining weight just fine though, and we’re not worried about you at all. I don’t know if you know this, but your Mom and Dad aren’t very large people.

Speaking of being small and adorable, the internet tells me that babies can’t typically sleep through the night until they’re around 11 pounds. In the past two weeks, you have extended your usual 3 hour bedtime sleep stretch to at least 4 hours most nights, and over 5 a couple times (meaning you’ve slept longer than you’ve EVER slept and 5 hours feels like a huge win to me!) And, you are a CHAMPION about bedtime. We haven’t really started a whole routine yet, but when we wrap you up in your magic Velcro swaddle and put you down in your baby box, you very rarely protest. You may cry for a few seconds but that’s about it. Sometimes you lay in your box awake and talking to yourself for awhile, we can hear you from the dining room or our bedroom and it makes me smile. But you are so great at going to sleep on your own at night. So I tell the internet that when it comes to sleep, you’re doing just fine.

You started smiling at us in the past couple weeks. At first it was kind of like your early kicks while you were in my belly: we weren’t real sure if that’s what was happening or if it was just gas. But now, it’s undeniable and it melts my heart every time you look me right in the eyes and grin.

You’re happy almost always when you’re on the changing table, apparently your most favorite place. A close second for you is probably in the bath. Nana got you one of those “blooming bath” flower deals and it is perfect for your loungey kitchen sink showers. You almost always pee when the water hits you. The first time we were unprepared and it went everywhere including into our sugar dish. But we learned our lesson and now we know it’s coming and it’s not a big deal (why yes, I WOULD like to try to catch your bodily fluids with my bare hand, THANK YOU.) Anyway, after your sink-pee, you will lay back and be pampered like a little spa baby while we spray you and scrub you and spray you some more, just because you love it. Getting out of the bath, however, is not your favorite (but who can blame you? It’s cold.)

You also love staring at the ceiling fans, and light fixtures, some of which may or may not look to you like a giant glowing ceiling boob.

We think you are starting to figure out you have arms. You often stick your tiny little fist, usually the left, straight up in the air and hold it there for an extended period of time. It’s funny, because in almost all of your ultrasound pictures, you had your left arm up by your face. The doctor also told us that you were trying to come out into the world that way, which caused a little bit of trouble late in our labor, but we made it through.

When you’re not asserting yourself with your Superman fist, you are sometimes trying to fit it into your mouth. You’ve taken to sucking on your hand, which is adorable. I have to say, though, I think pretty much everything you do is adorable. So I might be biased.

Sometimes when you’re upset, your dad will swaddle you tight and you’ll finally calm down and fall asleep all curled up at his shoulder which is about the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen. You seem to think he’s funny (I would agree), and I love watching the two of you smile, make faces, and stick your tongue out at each other. You have his bright blue eyes and we’re hoping you keep them, although apparently we won’t know for sure until you are six months or more. I hope you get his sense of humor and his charm, too.

Staying home with you has been harder than I imagined. Every day is different and unpredictable, and I don’t know if you’ll nap ok or want to be held all day. I don’t know how you’ll be feeling, or how many outfits the two of us will go through between spit up and blow-outs and sneaky leaking pee. Some days the biggest task I get done is getting myself in the shower before 5:00 p.m., and it’s often a team effort.

Sometimes it feels overwhelming and repetitive and a little bit lonely. But let me tell you this, I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I can’t believe I’m lucky enough to be your mom and to have this time with you, all to myself.

Someone recently asked me what my favorite part of the day was. I had to think about it for a minute, because I’m pretty happy with our days these days. I’m pretty sure it’s after you eat in the morning, when the sun is up but we’re both still sleepy. I sometimes feel guilty. I sometimes feel like I should get up and eat breakfast. I should encourage you to be awake too (feed, wake, sleep is the routine we’re shooting for). I should probably be cleaning something or answering emails or doing anything productive. But selfishly, I don’t. I sit and rock with you in my arms and smell your fuzzy soft little head. I let you sleep and listen to your sweet squeaky sighs and watch you try to burrow your little face into my chest.

I know you won’t be a tiny baby for very long, so I try to take advantage of every minute while I can. I don’t want to forget what it feels like. I know there is so much more fun stuff to come, but I already want to cry thinking about these moments being memories. I told your dad the other night when I had a little breakdown thinking about having to go back to work, I think this is what parenting is: it’s awesome and it also breaks your heart all the damn time. So for now, while it’s just me and you, kid, I’m not going to apologize for not getting up. I’m not going to feel bad for holding you, just a little bit longer.