You are such a smiley little guy. I can't handle it.
You have good eye contact, and whenever we lock eyes you're so satisfied to capture my attention that it makes you twist into big, gummy smile. Keep up that behavior and extend it to everyone you see. We need more people in the world who will look a stranger in the eye and give the gift of a smile.
Though you always have eyes for your Mom, you've become entertained by Eliza and watch for her, too. We have a hard time getting Eliza not to pull, jump, or otherwise clobber you, but you don't mind at all. Whenever she starts to rough-house you just smile and cackle at her, egging her on. I'm glad you two are off to such a good start.
The only time you're unhappy is in the early evenings. We call it your "witching hour" because that's when you turn into a screechy, slightly uncontrollable infant that demands something that we can't quite figure out. You eventually calm down and turn into a pumpkin again, but it's touch-and-go there for an hour or two.
You are sleeping really well and through the night most of the time. THANK YOU.
Last weekend we made our annual getaway to Lopez Island, and you went on your first ferry ride. In past years we camped at Spencer Spit but opted for a cabin to make life easier. We invited the Ballews to join us, so you also got to spend time with cousin Harry.
Selfishly, that trip was exactly what I needed. Life has been feeling busy. There was a moment that first day when we were settling into the cabin and I felt like a ton of bricks. I couldn't move off the couch out of plain exhaustion. You couldn't move because you're a baby. We were both tired for different reasons -- me, lack of sleep and a little stress; you, milk drunk -- and eventually nodded off.
When I woke up, you were still asleep on my chest and all was right in the world. All the schedules, emails, appointments and pending decisions went away in that moment. I felt thankful to have a little buddy who shared my passion for naps. The world also needs more naps, or at least I do.
Love, Dad