Oh Alamae, my sweet three month old, my fourth child, the one who I worry I am forcing into independence far sooner than any of my other babies ever were. I put you in your swing, and you sleep for hours, giving me a chance to read with your siblings or desperately try to stay on top of the piles of laundry that plague me. You nap longer than any of my children ever have, seeming to know that my time has become increasingly divided. I have always taken so much pride in not being the busy type, and yet I have spent your infancy with a to-do list ticker taping through my mind. I just hope that what you have missed out on with regards to my rapt attention, you have gained through the love of three older siblings who all adore you.
Our family doctor assures me you are getting plenty of attention by virtue of breast feeding and co-sleeping, assurances I appreciate but also don't fully accept. You seem to be developing at lightening speed, and I wonder, are you trying to gain extra notice by shedding your infancy boringness and replacing it with premature babbling and tongue thrusting and mouth bubbles? It's working. It is hard to ignore giggles that sound remarkably similar to a cry, but are accompanied by the happiest eyes, eyes the color of which is yet to be determined, although I'm putting my money on blue.
These past few weeks your rolls have increased, and Oma and Molly seemed to have taught you to kiss, open mouthed gummy kisses that land on the nose. If you weren't swinging and sleeping right this moment, I would try to get one out of you because they are among the best things I have ever experienced.
Alamae James, I love you. We all do.