Welcome to the world, buddy, and to our blog. I've written a monthly letter to your brother every month, and I'm going to do my best to do the same thing for you. Everyone keeps telling me that there's no way I'll have time to keep up with these, but they just don't know how super I am. I'm also going to do my best to keep your letter about you, and not just a comparison to how your brother did everything, though I expect that there'll be quite a bit of that.
With that said, I'll get this out of the way: you look a lot like your brother Nate. When you were first born, I was shocked by how much you looked like him. As the days went on, it struck me less and less. But we took this photo for your passport, and then I found this other photo of your brother, and well, they speak for themselves:
Jack's passport photo (20 days old):
Nate (11 days old):
Right now, you are a very crusty baby. You've got the classic cradle-cap, and the skin all over your face and head is peeling. You've also got a lovely rash under your chin and up the sides of your face. And your hair is falling out. I think you're adorable.
I was hoping for a cuddly baby this time, and it appears that I've gotten one! You love clutching on to our fingers, hair, shirt collars, and anything else you can wrap your little fingers around. I love it. I can't get enough of it. I guess I could do without the hair-pulling part, but it's worth it to get the finger-holding part. You're a total lover: your favorite thing is sleeping on top of us.
When you were first born, your eyes were slightly mis-aligned - the opposite of cross-eyed. In the last few days, I've noticed that you're looking at me normally now. Your eyes are very dark, but not brown. We think you might have gotten Daddy's, and Grandpa's, hazel eyes. You have a dimple in your left cheek like Daddy and I do; Nate has one in his right cheek.
You have figured out night from day now, and have very long, alert, awake periods during the day. You gaze around at the lights, windows, and blank walls. Sometimes I'll sit you in the boppy, or the swing, and you'll sit there placidly, sometimes sucking on your pacifier, for long stretches. I took you to an infant massage workshop, and you totally kicked the other babies butts. You were the youngest there, but honestly the most alert and calm - you were awake and content for almost two hours!
I think we really lucked out with having such a content baby. You're even calm during diaper changes, though you may be expressing some subliminal discontent - you pee on me almost every time. You really do like the changing table. Sometimes when you're in your evening cranky period, I'll just lay you on the mat and let you stare at the dining-room lights. I do your evening massage on the changing table, too, since you're clearly so comfortable there.
You do "sleep" most of the night, but you're damned if you're going to do it on your back like you're supposed to. I've tried everything - the swaddle, the miracle-blanket swaddle, the side sleep, letting you sleep in the swing, letting you sleep in your carseat...it fails. You'll sleep for a short stretch, wake up, nurse, fall asleep, let me put you back down in whatever position we're trying, and then you wait. You give me just enough time to make sure you're asleep, head back to bed, pull the covers up, and fall asleep for 3 seconds. Then you start crying again. It's awful. I have spent lots of nights crying, and banging fists on the bed. Very mature. Every now and then Daddy would take you away and get you to sleep any way he can manage:
So I tried you on your stomach, and you were in heaven. I tried it again, hoping it was a fluke, but it wasn't. You take 3 hours naps, and often give me 3 hour stretches at night. I've given up, and you're now sleeping on your belly. I'm so scared that something's going to happen to you, and I'm just crazy-hoping that you end up okay.
I feel like I'm really getting to know you. Sometimes you'll be cranky and fussy, and I know now that if you're fed the only reason for cranky is that you're tired. I'll pop in the paci, walk you around a bit, and you're usually off to sleep. It's very satisfying to know what's wrong with your kid, and how to fix it.
I wish I could always fix what's wrong for you, Jack. I know I won't be able to, but if I could I would. I hope you always know that.