Dear Son A,

Happy day: you’re four months, and one day! And where better to celebrate it than take a trip to the beach with the Gran, Granddaddy, and Unca Matt? Where we can stay in an abode that is new and pretty and has a t.v. in every room with extended direct tv, because that’s what one wants to do when they come to the beach: watch reruns of Perfect Strangers (okay, guilty as charged).

I find it amazing every day the things you know and do. With your big brother I was all up on the Developmental Stages (thank you babycenter.com emails): “your child should be rolling over” “your child should be babbling” “your child should be climbing on objects so as to steal freshly baked cookies from the counter”

But this time I’m floored every time you do something new. Like grab a toy. Or almost roll over. Or laugh at your brother falling flat on his face for laughs, because pain in the best means of humor. I’m sorry that I’m not so up on everything. It doesn’t mean I love you less, but if you’d sleep more, I could actually have some free time to read up on the amazingness of a four month old. Although some people have pointed out that your kind aren’t so kind to others right now: please, please don’t be a joiner, or rather, stop being a joiner.

You are a sensory junkie, my friend. Friend Lion, a dangly rattley toy that hangs from your car seat carrier, is oh so your friend. You grab his crinkly, crunchy mane and bop him around to hear the tinkle sound that could only be made by the little fairies trapped inside (poor fairies). You’ve finally recognized the goodness of your swing. The other day I was folding yet another load of laundry, meaning my attention was divided, meaning the balance of the world was WAY off kilter. So I put you in your swing and simply turned on the lights’n'music option - you know, the “let’s start overstimulating our young as soon as possible” option. And you.loved.it. Looking glazed like all the high schoolers piling into OMSI to watch the midnight showing of the Floyd lazer lights show: oh, the pretty lights.

But being so sensory-oriented isn’t always such a good thing. Because your arms - they have sensors. Meaning you must twitch and flail and conduct a spastic orchestra when you are the least bit sleepy. But it does not help you sleep. Or me sleep. And your tummy? Sensors. Which say, “I’m HUNGRY NOW WOMAN” or “I DON’T LIKE WHAT WE’RE HAVING FOR DINNER WOMAN” OR “MY BELLY HAS THE TEENSIEST BIT OF AIR IN IT WOMAN” which is cause for great weeping, wailing, and gnashing of gums (which also have sensors telling you that someday you’ll have teeth, and you might start voicing the pain and discomfort that will come with that now, because you’d like to be ahead of the game). And your brother? Well, he’s the embodiment of all the lights and sounds on the earth: kinda like white - absorbs it all. Which means he might be a *wee* bit much for you at times, but don’t worry: you’ll get used to your nervous twitch - we all do and actually find it a bit endearing.

Tonight you will experience a new sensation: that of solid food. That’s right: it’s rice cereal time, baby. I know a lot of women wait until six months to give their kids solid food. And others talk about how much they enjoy the wonders and miracle of nursing. Those are the Good Mothers, which God did not deem for you to have. But know that when you want to do things like get your drivers license or work the grill or be the youngest kid to climb Smith Rock, I’ll hand you all the appropriate manuals and a batch of freshly baked cookies because you always need a batch of freshly baked cookies. And the other kids with the Good Mothers will have to be eating their cookies at home - poor, boring kids.

But as much as you are affected by sensations, you evoke sensations as well. When your dad tosses you in the air and you emit a silent squeal. When you’re getting your diaper changed and enjoy the freedom of your netherregions with kicks, kicks, and more kicks. When you have your Happy Morning time and can’t stop smiling at anyone and everyone who passes your way (oh, how the checkers at Freddies love you: soon you, too, will be showered with Fred Bear stickers - but please use them responsibly). When you grab something and your brother exclaims “Little A grabbed it! He did it! Good job: gimme five.” When you nestle down in my arms and sigh with relief because “finally, you got the message: I want *YOU* and only *YOU* to hold me.”

I want to hold you, too.

Love, Ma

Little A Adventures, Mama Musings