You were two months old yesterday, and are running circles around all of the typical baby book milestones for a two month old. You weigh 15 lbs 9 ounces and are 24 inches long, a growth of 6 and a half pounds and two and a half inches since birth. You smile regularly, roll from your tummy to your back at every opportunity, and have started using your hands to bat and and grab toys, sometimes even picking something up, entirely by chance and then gazing it in wonder until it escapes your grip. Your legs are hams on the top and sausages at the bottom. Your chest and stomach are huge, even your hands and feet are chubby. You may blame me for many things later in life, but you will never be able to say that I didn't feed you well.
You sleep. Can I get a hallelujah? That deserves a hallelujah. Last night you went 12 hours with one feeding and you regularly do a six to seven hour stretch at night. You usually take your morning nap in your car seat while Mia and I drag you around town, your afternoon nap in your swing, and then fall asleep on our bed and are easily transferred to your co-sleeper for a few hours when we come to bed. Once you wake up to eat you spend the rest of the night tucked against my shoulder and those few hours spent with your sticky-outy hair tickling my neck and nose are some of the best moments of my life. You already have a bedtime, usually around 9:00 and once you are down we rarely hear from you again before 3 AM.
You almost never cry. Pretty much the only time you do is when you are tired and want to be put to bed. You do sometimes yell or grouse if you want to be picked up or entertained, but usually you are just happy to do whatever, whenever, and are generally content to register your desire and then hang out and wait for someone to get to you. You don't even cry when you wake up, which, come to think of it, is sort of annoying because I feel I need to check on you frequently to make sure you aren't awake and lonely but just too polite to mention it.
Don't think you get left on your own a lot, though, merely because you are willing. It might happen more if anybody were able to pull themselves away from the power of your smile. And boy how you smile. All we have to do is speak to you or even look with you and you break out that amazing grin and nearly kick and wiggle yourself to bits from the sheer excitement of being alive. You like to chill in the Baby Papasan and admire yourself in the mirror or chase whatever toy I've strapped on, to lie on the floor and let Mia poke and prod and kiss and tickle you, or to ride around in the Moby wrap ogling the world.
Baby boy, I have been slowly learning not to compare you to any other child of my acquaintance. I spent the first few weeks trying to apply the hard-won lessons from your sister's infancy, and it just didn't work. The fact is that every (minor) problem we have had with you, every grumpy day or extended fussing session has been directly caused by expecting you to be like Mia. Once I got focused on figuring you out as entirely new entity, everything just slipped into place. The truth is, I never learned to tell the difference between the hungry cry and the tired cry and the just pissed at the world cry, but for some reason your no-cry approach connects for me. I know the reluctant grunt you make when you need to burp while nursing but don't want to give up the boob in order to do it. I know the wicked look you get in your eyes just before you poop. I can tell the difference between when you really don't want to eat and when you really do want to eat but just want to make me work for it first. It has been hard to adjust again to a child who cannot speak to me, but once I figured out how to listen I learned to hear what you were saying.
Sweet Owen, you are a very happy baby. Joyful and a joy, and I hope you will always find as much simple pleasure in being alive as you do right now. I joke sometimes that I earned you, that I deserve an easy baby, but the truth is that I can't imagine anything I could ever have done that was good enough to earn you. I had a hard time adjusting to the idea of a second child, and a hard time adjusting to the idea of a son, mostly because it was outside of my experience. I was worried about how things would change, how you would fit into the family, how we would bond. Those worries are now memories, nothing more. You are a wonder and a marvel and I am so glad that you are here and that you are you.