4 Months

Dear Lucy,

My goodness girl, you are growing up way too fast. No you cannot have the car keys and you are not dating until you are 43. Or until I am dead, whichever comes first.

This month you have learned of the joy that is your feet. You wake yourself up from naps just to talk to your feet. Your hands are still okay, but your feet, well, they are magical. You can be screaming bloody murder, but when you see your feet, you are all smiles. I am no longer buying you any more toys. Not until you like them more than your own body parts.

This was a trying month for both of us. It was the month of the nursing strike, the cold that had all that mucus and the attempted photo session. Even though you were very challenging at times, I found myself, if it’s possible, loving you even more. Because even though it was the month of all of those bad things, it was also the month of the hysterical laugh, and how can you not adore a baby with a hysterical laugh.

Your laugh can sometimes remind me of Butt Head from Bevis and Butt Head. It starts out as a slow “huh, huh huh, huh” and then slowly progresses into a high pitched squeal. You’ve also perfected your Molly impression, panting with your tounge hanging out of your mouth. This past weekend you made Aunt Mara’s day when instead of doing the requisite amount of screaming, you showed her all of your laughs and pants, finally proving that you like her even though she refers to herself in the third person.

That’s what I love the most (if I can even pick) about you, Lucy. Even when someone is hungover or sick or just in a plain old bad mood, you can turn their day around. All you have to do is break out into your toothless grin and a person cannot help but smile back. That is a great gift, sweetie. And we may have to utilize that around Christmas time. Remember, Grandma’s love smiling babies!

Love,
Mama