Four Months Status Report

Dear Harlow,

You are four months old. You are 17 and a half pounds and 26 inches long, making you the most handsome 6 month old boy Memphis has ever seen. They've broken me, sweet baby. You wear a lot of pink these days, and flowers. I even found a bow on your skirt the other day, buried as it was under the mountains of ruffles. And they still address you as Lil Buddy. I don't know. Maybe baby business cards are next.

You are in the 95th percentile for weight, height and head size, so it should come as no surprise that I have guns that outmuscle Linda Hamilton. Need me to help move your couch? Your car? Your 17 and half pound baby and their carseat? I'm your girl. I am officially no longer worrying about your size as you are truly one of the strongest, most energetic, happiest babies I've ever seen. I will choose to worry about that self-inflicted cut on your tongue instead.

You are drooling. A lot. I was absolutely convinced you were teething until the doc said those little white specks on your gums are cysts. And that's ok. I've never heard of the Cyst Fairy but I'm sure he or she would be thrilled for the work. You love to sing, especially when your dad sings and plays the guitar. Sometimes you sound like a baby owl, and then you do this screechy, excited squeal, which is what I imagine a baby pterodactyl sounds like.

It turns out your eyes are blue. Who knew? said your hazel-eyed parents. They are this gorgeous shade of sapphire that truly isn't causing any feelings of jealousy in me to stir at all. Really.