My special Tobin,
Nobody understands it. Maybe you understand it, but you haven’t done much to explain yourself. We can’t figure out how it’s possible for a baby to nap as little as you do and maintain such good humor. It’s simply illogical.
I got a white noise machine. I tried putting you down at exactly 2 hour intervals. I tried 3 hour intervals. I tried the same time every day. I tried just watching your signals. The going to sleep is no problem, usually. It’s just that you always wake up after 20 or 30 minutes. This is not enough napping.
To clarify: this is not enough napping for me. You seem to be doing fine. You’re still growing and laughing and eating and playing and making these hilarious bear roars, and most nights you sleep well. You just seem morally opposed to long naps. That’s why these memos and your brother’s are always late nowadays, because I never get an hour to sit down and write them. It’s your fault if you don’t have a comprehensive record of your formative years, you little fart.
And yet, you are the jolliest little guy. You laugh at all kinds of things. You get really excited about your favorite foods (currently yogurt), and you’re ticklish, and I swear the other day you gave me an actual kiss with suction and release. You may have been trying to nurse from my cheek, but I’ll take it.
As always, your greatest source of laughter is your brother. A week or two ago, your dad was working late downstairs while you and I were asleep in the Mommy and Daddy bed. We still call it that in the hope that one day it will regain its accuracy. Miles woke up and came in, which he sometimes does, and your dad usually takes him to the bathroom or gets him a drink or comforts him, then he ushers him back to bed in his own room. But that night, since your dad wasn’t there, Miles seized the opportunity and climbed into bed with us. When your dad finally came up to bed, he found his spot taken, and rather than haul Miles out of bed and risk waking him, he went into Miles’s room and slept there.
Somewhere around 2:30 a.m., you woke up, all ready for a Power Hour. As I’ve mentioned before, a Power Hour involves you crawling around, wide awake and in a good mood, while I ignore you as best I can while making sure you don’t roll off the bed. This isn’t usually too big an issue, since your dad is generally on the other side. That morning, though, you looked over and found (insert sound of an angelic choir) MILES. You were absolutely psyched to see him. He was fast asleep, and I wanted him to stay that way, because I seriously didn’t need two awake children at that moment.
For you, though, it was like Christmas morning. You crawled over to him, whapping him on the back with your little fists in an attempt to get his attention. You smiled and laughed at his snores. He was sleeping in a shirt and underpants, and his butt featured the face of Captain America. That caught your attention, so you did a 180 and starting whapping his behind.
It wasn’t until 4:00 that you gave up and fell asleep. Miles slept through the whole thing. Something tells me that once we get you moved into your own room for nighttime sleeping, you’ll be creeping into Miles’s bed. That’s not a bad idea, since Miles wants us to have five more babies. In the unlikely event of that occurring, we’ll definitely need you guys to double up.
You are fully mobile these days, doing kind of a hybrid crawl/scootch powered by your right foot. When you’re still, you can stay up on all fours pretty well, but your belly hits the ground when it’s time to move. Sometimes you gather dust bunnies for me. You’re very helpful.
You’ve learned how to remove your pacifier and put inappropriate things into your mouth. Your favorite target is the scraps of paper your brother leaves around after his paper-cutting activities. I try to keep things swept up, but it’s amazing how those things hide in the nooks and crannies of our house. It’s even more amazing how you find them.
Your “talking” is beginning to sound more like English, with distinct syllables and lots of different phonemes. You can definitely make an M sound, so I’m waiting in anticipation of a clear mama. I’m probably kidding myself, though. You’ll say Miles first, or some variant.
I’m so glad I know you, little Tobin. I’m so grateful that I get to spend all day with you. I’m also grateful that your dad is so happy to see you when he gets home (and you him).
You’ve been asleep for 31 minutes, so I’m going to finish this up so as to not push my luck.
I love you and your tickly little neck and chubby little thighs and nuzzly little nose.