Dear Simon,

Where in the world have four months gone already? I think this month you have changed more than any other month. Every day you interact more with the people and objects in your world. It used to be that I would look forward to times when you would sleep so that I could get a little rest. These days, I can’t wait until you wake up so that we can talk. Sometimes I even wake you up, though that doesn’t always go well for me.

This month, you were baptized. This means that you are a member of God’s covenant family and are entitled to all of the blessings that entails. We know that God’s spirit is at work in your heart, and we pray for the day that you profess your own faith in Jesus Christ. Until then, you will be surrounded by people who love you, both at home and in the church. And these people want you know that God loves you, and that you are ultimately His child.

You also had your baby shower (finally), which was yet another reminder that so many people love you. They brought many wonderful gifts—cute clothes (which you are already growing out of), books that will make you the smartest boy on the block, and all kinds of fun toys. Your parents might grumble every now and then that the house now looks like a tornado tore through a baby store, but we’re incredibly grateful for all of the support and care that has been shown to our family over the last few months.

One of my favorite new things that you started doing this month is the Full Body Hello. If someone walks into your line of sight, you will kick your legs, flail your arms, and wiggle your middle, and flash that smile that can be seen from outer space. That you are so happy to see me almost makes up for the fact that you are becoming more independent every day. You like to be on your back and kick. You’re still a bit of a snuggle bug, but not as much as before. You like to sit up, and you have much better head control, but you’re still pretty wobbly, so it looks like you’re agreeing with everything everybody says.

You also have become quite social. You do a lot of “talking” and sometimes your conversations with the ceiling fan are quite spirited. You have started smiling at yourself in the mirror, or maybe you’re smiling at two mommies. Either way, you are very engaging.

You still manage to keep your parents on their toes. In the early months, you had your guerilla pooping skills. Nowadays, you’re a bit manic. One minute, you might be screaming at the top of your lungs, like the whole sky is falling. And just when we’re about to execute Emergency Baby Pacification Plan #258 (which often entails pulling over to the side of the road and soothing you), you’ll suddenly keel over in mid-wail, fast asleep.

You still bring lots of joy into our lives, and I don’t think that’s going to end anytime soon.

Mama loves you, little man.

We’ve just returned from a short trip (long weekend, really) to visit friends in Colorado. Simon was a delightful travel companion, and we all enjoyed our first vacation as a family of three. As always, I’m all inspired after spending time with the Sittlers, and I’m itching to end my long blog drought. However, I’m more delerious from lack of sleep and road-weary than I am inspired, so this bitty entry will have to remain a teaser for tonight.

Dear Simon,

I’m a little late with your letter this month. What’s worse, I don’t remember all that much about this month. You see, it’s all kind of a blur because you started smiling, and that’s pretty much all I can handle. You started off tentatively and unpredictably. I would spend most of my days hovered over you, camera in hand, begging you to smile and shooting hundreds of pictures trying to catch that fleeting grin. Now, though, you smile just about every time you are awake, and that just makes me go all weak in the knees. Oh, and then there’s the cooing. Don’t even get me started. When you talk to me, everything goes all blurry and I just about black out from the cuteness.

You are doing everything a little bigger and and a little better this month. You stay awake for longer stretches. You sleep a little longer and A LOT better. You like your baths better all the time.

You can and do sleep anywhere. And that’s mostly nice, but at the same time, I just can’t wait until you wake up so that can talk to you again.

And did I mention that you’re smiling now?

You still have a bit of drama in you, kid. Either you’re all-out happy or you couldn’t care less. These next two pictures? Same kid.

You’ve also started to interact with objects around you more. You have a musical cow on your bouncy seat that you think is so funny, and when it gets stuck (the same place every time), you cock your head as if you can’t figure out why the music turned into such an annoying sound. And we’ve started working on textures--but I don’t think you really get it yet, because you seem to like your soft, soft teddy bear and your daddy’s scratchy face just the same.

You are a great kid, and I am loving every minute of getting to know you.

Mama loves you, little man.

When do sweet little feet cross the line from totally edible to not so much?

Dear Simon,

On Saturday you turned two months old. I wouldn’t believe it except today you have your two-month check-up with the pediatrician, so that must be right.

You have grown so much this month. You grew out of your preemie clothes—two pounds ago, in fact. I cried as I folded them up and tucked them away even though I knew I was being rather silly. I am so conflicted. Of course, I cheer when you grow. I call your dad every week after your weight checks to make him guess what a big baby you’re becoming. But then I remember you’ll never be this little again, and that makes me ache a little.

You are starting to make more noises and make them more often. Your range of grunts is definitely expanding. Most interestingly and perplexingly, you seem to have learned to throw your voice. Yesterday we were in the grocery store and you let out this gravelly, sorrowful groan, but in the time that it took me to shift my eyes from the peas to your sweet face, you had become your usual placid self, and I thought to myself that there was just no way that sad sound had come from that peaceful baby except possibly by way of ventriloquism.

You’ve learned a few other tricks this month as well. When we feed you from a bottle, you either place your hand on top of ours as if to guide us, or you ball both your hands into tight little fists up by your chest as if to psych yourself up to chug the whole thing. Impossibly cute. Once in a while you find your thumb, though usually by accident after several minutes of flailing your arm back and forth in front of your face and sticking out your tongue as if trying to catch it like a raindrop. And occasionally you spit up so much that we realize you must be trying to treat us to your impression of a soft-serve ice cream dispenser—this is one trick we wish you would unlearn, kiddo.

You are regularly undecided about whether or not you are upset. Usually, you decide you’re not. Sometimes when you are sleeping, just about to wake, you will screw up your face and trick us into thinking you’re about to let out a blood-curdling scream, but the next moment you will relax again completely. You can go from Mr. Fussy Fusses A Lot to Mr. Limpy McSleeper in such a short span that if you were older I’d think you were faking it. This morning during tummy time, you tried your best to roll onto your back, but after only a few minutes of disgruntled and noisy baby push-ups (wherein you lift your head from side to side), you decided it was in vain and abandoned the project. Poor little peanut without any motor control.

This month you’ve ventured out of the house quite a bit more. You made your debut at Zion, you visited both sets of grandparents for Easter, and you even made the rounds with Daddy’s co-workers. You love your car seat, which is a blessing. Perhaps you have inherited your mama’s love of traveling. You are a big hit wherever you go, of course, and it makes me feel a little bit more sane to be not quite so housebound. Predictably, the downside is that we are now late for absolutely everything. Who knew you would need so much stuff for the smallest outings—and who knew it would take forever to round it all up?

You are also starting to interact more, and that is even more fun than we had imagined. You have given us a couple of smiles, though they are not yet predictable, and your dad and I regularly make fools of ourselves trying to get you to give us a gummy little grin. Now you are happily kicking and smiling beside me. Every once in a while, I stick my face into your line of vision, just so I can pretend you’re smiling at me. Soon, soon. Whenever you hear your daddy’s voice, you crane your neck to see where he is. This, of course, pushes my heart to its absolute bursting point every time.

You are the best baby in the world. My only suggestion for improvement is this: this next month I’d like to see you work on being awake more in the day and asleep more in the night. That’s all.

Mama loves you, little man.

Simon and Ezra

One of the first decisions Jason and I made about “when we have kids” is that we would have a Totoro-themed nursery (his idea). Finishing the nursey was truly a collaborative effort by Simon’s grandparents, and we couldn’t be more happy with how it turned out. Grandpa Carlson painted the walls. Grandma Carlson made the curtains. Grandma Morehead made the bedding. And the wall hangings were a team effort--Grandma Carlson made the pattern, Grandpa Morehead cut the wood (and spearheaded the installation), and Grandma Morehead painted them. They each did such an amazing job, and I am so thankful to have such a special room for our little guy.

Simon got his first real dose of fresh air today. The brief outing with Rebecca and Livia was refreshing to body and soul, and I’m thankful that we chose it over a (also desperately needed) nap.

Dear Simon,

You are already a month old, which is still kind of unbelievable to us since we really weren’t expecting you to make your debut for another two weeks yet. Of course, we can’t imagine it any other way.

It is truly a blessing that you were born six weeks early (still, right on time, as your dad pointed out). I have needed those “extra” weeks since I’ve already had several near-meltdowns of the “he won’t be a baby forever” variety. Indeed, you are growing so fast—you weighed a hefty five pounds at your last appointment. To others you look so little, but to your dad and me, you are simply baby size. In fact, we have met a number of brand new baby friends since your arrival (there has been an absolute baby explosion at Zion), and we just can’t get over how big they look compared to you—most of them are twice your size.

One of my overwhelming impressions of you on your birthday was that you were impossibly soft. I seem to remember asking everyone who saw you that day if they had touched you and if they noticed how soft you were (okay, I was a little loopy from the Demerol).  Your dad and I got hooked on Mythbusters while I was in the hospital (and have continued our habit now that we have cable TV at home). I keep wondering if Adam and Jamie can come up with some experiment to prove that your wee little head is indeed the softest surface known to man. Totally plausible.

You spent your first three weeks in the neonatal intensive care unit. While we are thankful for the excellent care you received and for the extra sleep (which we are completely deprived of now), I can’t even begin to tell you how hard it was to leave you each night. After your first two or three days, you no longer needed oxygen or other help breathing, so they called you a “feeder and grower,” which sounds like some kind of farmer but just meant that you needed to grow and to learn how to eat before they sent you home with us. And we are so happy to have you home (sleepless nights and all); home just didn’t feel right without the littlest Morehead.

True, your days and nights are pretty predictable: eat, sleep, poop, repeat. But even when you’re sleeping, you have a multitude of expressions, and any one of them has the capacity to bring me to my knees with its sheer cuteness. We knew from your very first day that you had a dark look—one that rivaled even Jones’s pout (not shown in this picture)—but you also have a smile that absolutely lights up my world. Your most common expression is what we think might be bored—you hold your lips completely still and shift your eyes as if you are so over whatever we might be doing as we try desperately to entertain you. Sometimes, though, you do the opposite—you wrinkle your lips into a teeny O (as if to coo) and say with your eyes that you have just heard the most wonderful news. My favorite, though, is when you pucker up: I just can’t stop myself from planting a big kiss on your lips—the kind that would make you roll your eyes and say, “Oh, Mom!” if only you could talk, which you can’t.

On that note, I love your myriad baby noises as well. Your squeaks and grunts are priceless. You’ve already nearly outgrown your goat cry, which makes me kind of sad because it was almost as cute as it was pathetic. When you sneeze, you let out three or four “Achoos” almost always followed by an exclamatory “Huuuuunh!” Oh, how I wish you would not outgrow that one. It’s ridiculously sweet.

Although it’s still a ways off, we have been talking about what you might like to be when you grow up. We think that you may have a future in the military’s special forces. We base this on your guerilla pooping skills. You patiently wait until after your diaper is changed and then promptly fill it. You do this several times a day, and you’d think by now that we’d be on to you, but we continue to fall for it.

You’ll also be well equipped for your special ops career with your rock-hard abs. You lie flat on your back and raise both feet in the air. Sometimes you work on your obliques by lying on your side and lifting your legs. I know from my work-out DVDs that these are difficult moves.

And yet another of your qualifications would be your special ability to Houdini out of your blankets. You always manage get your arms loose, no matter how tight we swaddle you. You are one strong kiddo, that’s for sure.

You are the very definition of “good baby,” as you are about as chilled out as human babies come (you must get that from your dad). You are nothing if not delightful, and your dad and I couldn’t be happier that you’ve come and turned our lives upside down.

Mama loves you, little man.