You are three months old today, clocking in at 17 pounds and 25 inches, and you are sick. Oh my little bear, you are sick and I am so sorry. You have a stuffy nose and a cough and it makes you very, very sad. Of course, by very very sad I mean that you occasionally squawk when your nose gets so stuffy that it wakes you up and sometimes cry for a minute after a massive coughing fit and scream like a lunatic when I attack you with the nose sucker. So by any other measure you are still an incredibly happy baby, but when you have the reputation of World's Happiest Baby to uphold these things matter greatly. You actually kept me up most of the night last night, which is only the second or third time in your life, but you were so sweet about it I couldn't even get very grumpy.
So, you are sick, and I've spent the past month ruining your perfectly wonderful nap schedule. You can't quite sleep through anything anymore, but we are almost always out somewhere or other in the morning and that somewhere or other is usually loud enough to wake you up. So you've trained yourself to take a 30 minute morning nap and then collapse for most of the afternoon as soon as we are home and giving you half a chance to sleep. I put you to bed at night between 8:00 and 8:30 and you usually sleep with very little intervention until 7:30.
Your favorite activity these days is smiling. You just love everybody and everything. You will let anyone hold you, let anyone play with you, and will happily spend an hour in a total stranger's lap. You are beginning to realize that you can cause your arms and hands to do your bidding and like to bat at toys, especially your purple elephant and the world-famous Ball of Wonder. You like to suck on your knuckles.
You are soft and squishy and chubby and nearly perfectly round, and if there is anything in the world I like better than a fat baby I sure can't think of it now. You are so chubby that when you chanced to look up farther than usual one day this week we found a collection of schmutz hidden in one of your deeper neck folds. I am starting to move you into your 6-9 month clothes, with most of your 3-6 month stuff folded in your drawers entirely unworn. There just weren't enough days when they fit to get around to wearing it all.
You favorite person by far is Mia. Luckily for you she loves to give you hugs and kisses and bring you toys, which thrills you, but all she has to do is look at you and it makes your entire day. You adore your father and just light up whenever you see him. But you also love your mommy. You love to nurse and you love to cuddle with me and you are perhaps happiest just tucked under my arm or up on my hip as we go about our day.
You have some sort of magnetism that people are powerless to resist. Nobody can keep their hands off you, and when we enter any room you are swarmed by people who want to admire your cheeks and your smile. You are especially attractive to children, who always love babies, but who stare at you as if hypnotized.
I think you were born three months old - settled and happy and big and strong. And now when I see other babies I naturally compare them to you when guessing their ages. I frequently decide that another baby is your age or maybe slightly younger only to find that he is six or seven months old. You are big, yes, and so strong that the pediatrician keeps telling me you shouldn't be able to do the things you do, but you are also so alert and engaged that it is hard to believe that until today you still qualified as a newborn.
One day this week you were having trouble falling asleep so I held you and rocked you for a while, thinking of the many things I needed to get done once I finally got you and your sister to sleep. But then I realized that none of those things were as important as sitting there and holding you. I feel guilty sometimes that I don't spend three hours a night rocking you to sleep, that you aren't taking every nap for your first six months in my arms they way Mia did, but you don't need those things and you don't want them - won't allow then, even. It makes me treasure those rare times when I can steal a quiet moment with you, when I can spend an hour watching you sleep, watching your lips move as you dream about nursing, hearing you groan and sigh as you wander through your nap.
Sweet Owen, my bug, my little bear, you are a wonder and a marvel and being your mommy is a great and tremendous pleasure.