For Jack
You embody everything calm and pure about my day. When we get you out of your crib in the morning you've rolled to your back, are kicking your feet and making your hungry noise, your mmm mmm mmm. There's nothing like lifting you into our arms; your body is so fragile and soft through your cotton sleepers, and there's a sacredness about feeling your small organs at work beneath the thinness of your new skin. You're very vocal and use lots of inflection to let us know just how desperate the situation is, just how hungry you really are- mmm mmm AH! mmm mm AH! And maybe you really are that hungry because at your 4 month appointment you were in the 75th-90th percentile for length and in the 25th percentile for weight. Long and skinny.
You had your first taste of babyfood a few days ago. Bananas, on the 14th. The reason for this really wasn't your weight because the doctor said that's probably just how you'll run- long and skinny, just the way you arrived- but rather the decision was made after we watched you reach for some pasta on daddy's plate the other night and moan longingly. At first it seemed a coincidence. At first. Then you made it clear you wanted real food and you wanted it NOW.
I've found that you like bananas but hate pears, so when I place them on your tongue your face distorts in disgust to say 'did you mean to put this in my mouth? Gross.' And back it comes. It could easily become a game, watching your reaction each time, but then it just seemed mean, so I gave up on pears for the time being. Now sweet potatoes, bring on the sweet potatoes! Just like your brother when he was a baby. And sweet potatoes are infamous for gas. What is it with men and gas... gaseous foods, things that run on gas, things that makes gas... it's like the more gas, the better. No wonder you all love meat, potatoes, boat engines and rocket ships.
And speaking of your brother, he adores you. Like not just 'sort of,' but is entering into stalker territory. He smothers you with kisses; kisses that trigger between your cheek and ear in machine gun explosions; rapid fires coming in long series that seem, at times, neverending. I battle with how much to let him kiss you and when to call in security. I'm glad he loves you so much, but I'm trying to keep your hearing in tact too, you know? At least until you're old enough to take up drums like your daddy and damage your eardrums on your own watch.
And you adore your big brother, too. You love to lean over your bumbo seat to watch him color, your eyes follow his flitting body all around the room and you smile when he approaches and especially when he talks to you. If you're upset in the car he prays for you. How many four month olds have a 4 year old brother who already prays for them? How many people live an entire life with no one praying for them?
He prays that you wouldn't be sad and that you would feel better. He tells you not to worry because Jesus is always with you. Never forget this about your brother. Never forget that he was one of your first intercessors and shoulders to lean on, because then you'll always know where you can go when you need these things in the future. I have never been so proud of Evan, never so happy for you, as when I hear that little voice talking to the God of the universe about his baby brother.
Madalyn cares deeply about you, too, but has a completely different way of showing it. Because of this, she gets a different reaction out of you than Evan does, with a little more reverence or bashfulness or something because she isn't as smothering, because she's a bit more of a mystery to you and you admire her for it. When she comes into view there's almost a guaranteed smile out of you.
She likes to check in on you now and then and she's the first to tell you it's ok if she thinks your distressed about something like thunder or lightning. She was very concerned after you had your vaccinations and told everyone she encountered that you had had shots. One lady in the grocery store answered her, "he got shot?" (And that's what happens when you get the story from a two year old; syringes pricks turns into bullet wounds and before you know it you've become the baby from last night's evening news story.) Today when I brought you in to wake her from her nap she said, "Good morning, I love you, Jack."
Daddy is your breath of fresh air when he walks in the door after work at night, (fresh air for us all, really.) You kick your legs wildly at the sound of his voice and grin a gummy smile at the sight of him. But I can't resist swelling with pride over the fact that, so far, I'm the only one who's made you laugh.
The funniest thing in your world is having the sweet potatoes scared right out of you. I'll pretend to be looking somewhere else and then turn and say BOO all of a sudden, and laughs just leap right out of your gut. It is the most precious sound in the world, without question. The more I frighten you the harder you laugh. I wonder if this means you'll be a thrill seeker?
And you like me to talk to you while you lie on your back and then viciously attack your neck without warning. That's equally as funny. Evan's copied me a few times on these things and gotten some single chuckles out of you as well.
What's more precious then watching your chest bob with each chuckle? Nothing. Not a thing this side of Heaven.
Some things are a close tie. Like when you stroke my face and reach for my hair. (Although Evan doesn't really understand your hair fixation.) Poor Evan with his mass of thick curls. His hair is irresistible. You always go after it when it's in close range. He's generally very patient about it- tries to remain calm while I pry your dead, cold grasp off of it- but yesterday he finally asked me in a very distressed manner while rubbing a very sore scalp, "why does Jack always pull my hair?"
The best thing about this month with you is the way it has unfolded new parts of your personality. You have these huge eyes that take in everything and everyone, and you make quite a variety of noises to tell us how you feel about things. You have quite the romance going with the wipes bag. You enjoy being in your bumbo seat and your swing and playing on your back on your playmat on the floor. You drool and gum on anything you can get your mouth around, suck your thumb when we tuck you in bed, and sometimes when you're awake, using one hand to steer the other to your mouth. You're in 6 month sizes. You have a slight case of cradle cap. You have a downy, fuzzy head I can't stop rubbing, and the lips of an angel. The scent of your breath and the oils of your skin should be bottled and sold. Your smile melts me into a pathetic puddle of weakness. Your eyes light up the longest hours of night (and there are certainly plenty of those.)
Jack, what else can I say? You're everything we all hoped for and more. I am so very thankful God put you in our family, so blessed and humbled to call you my son. I hope and pray you'll never mind calling me your mother.
