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.