This letter is late I guess. You should have gotten one every month. Obviously you did not. This is your three month and a couple of days letter. You are currently sitting in your bouncy chair looking at me. Every time I look your way you absolutely curl up with glee. HUGE smile! Curled feet. Hands come together. Knees to chest. Your happiness is evident on every part of your body. Yes, you are a joy right now. But more importantly, I am a rock star. I am the single greatest person on the planet. I can do no wrong. Your father comes in a very close second, but his inability to feed you like I can puts him at a slight disadvantage.
I know that I will get a couple of years of this and then it will be over. Anything based on feeding is effectively ruined when you start getting fed by the school lunch lady. And I am almost certain that my penchant for pinching your thigh rolls or tickling your neck will only embarrass you at adolescence instead of crack you up. Just a hunch.
And now you are talking to me. Very loudly. I imagine you are saying, very sweetly, "Mother, please let me out of this chair." When I put you in this chair you were asleep. Something you should still be. Sleep is a bit of problem. You still like to eat at night pretty often, but really the problem lies in the naps. You won't sleep during the day unless you are being held. You will only sleep for longer than a half hour if I actually sleep with you. Or at least pretend to sleep. I have to admit that pretending to sleep has led to actual sleeping 100% of the time. Bad plan.
2 1/2 to 3 month olds are why people have kids. If you didn't hate your car seat with a screaming passion you might be the world's most perfect baby. Let's work on that. You went swimming with your friend Will the other day. To our total shock you really liked it. You didn't laugh but it was close. If you are wondering what makes you laugh right now it is either a rousing game of Peek a Boo or Spat the Bootie. Ha! I had to add that last one to embarrass you at 16.