Sunday, July 05, 2009

An Open Letter

Dear Sam,
You are six months old today.
I look at the time that has gone by this year and while I can't believe it is already July, I also do not have a firm grasp of what life was like when you weren't in our lives.
I am enamored with you. I see other lovely, delightful children, but then I come back to you and I am taken again and again with your sweet sunniness. I am filled with a delight I cannot fully describe that we get to be your family.
Your eyes are blue, and likely will stay that way by now. Your sister was a 1 in 4 chance that she would keep her blue eyes with her hazel-eyed parents; you were a 1 in 16, I believe. You look a shocking amount like you sister did at this age. It is eerie to an extent, but also very exciting to see how you and your sister will manifest looking alike as you both grow and mature.
We are getting ready to start food, and we have had a couple of forays into rice cereal. You were intrigued, but not entirely sold. I can't wait to start you on bananas, personally. I think you'll find them to be a real winner.
You are very close to sitting up, aren't really interested in turning over (though you have shown you can do it), and love, love, love blowing raspberries and spit bubbles. When the mood takes you, you can do this for long minutes on end with little or no encouragement.
When you sister walks into the room, your gaze gravitates toward her, like it is being inexplicably drawn on a tether. If you hear her from another room, you stop whatever it is you're doing and crane your neck to see if you can get a glimpse of her. When she comes up fully into your face, your delight radiates from your face and your limbs vibrate with pleasure. She loves you very much, as she tells me everyday. I hope that continues after you are able to grab for her Legos.
You sleep, well, like a baby. Which is to say, somewhat fitfully and not always with ease. But, I know this phenomenon now for the blip that it is in the developmental chart. At the moment, you wake yourself up with your flailing arms and cycling legs, so we have to keep swaddling even though your breaking out tells us you are getting tired of it. A little bit more neurological control, and I think we might end up in a completely different sleep place (at last).
There are not as many pictures of you in our house as there were of your sister. This lies firmly at my doorstep. It is not because, as I think many second children think, that you are not as well loved or that I take your experience for granted. More truthfully, it is because I am more present for your infancy. With your sister, I used the camera as a way to understand my own experience and to try to process it. With you, I am just enjoying it for what it has brought me: a remarkable sense of completion.
I recently heard the expression Le Choix du Roi, literally "the King's Choice." It is a French colloquialism used to express the satisfaction of having two children, one girl and one boy. It is so very fitting, for you and your sister are the stuff of delight.

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