Rosemary’s 20 weeks old today. I thought I’d take a picture in just a white onesie this week, so you can see how chunky she is. Also, I think all babies look like little body builders or something when you put them in just a onesie. The kiddo’s just a little over 15 pounds now, which puts her in the 65th percentile for her age. When she was born, she was in the 9th percentile, and she had the scrawniest arms and legs. My, how things change!

She rolled over for me last night, from front to back, but I think it was a bit of a fluke. She just tilted her head one way, and her big noggin carried her whole body over. She’s sitting up by herself really well now. And developing from that, she will also now pick things up from the ground while she’s sitting. Of course everything goes in the mouth.

We’re really close to seeing a tooth come through the gums. Poor baby’s got a very lumpy bottom gum.

She likes reading “The Little Mouse, the Red Ripe Strawberry, and the Big Hungry Bear,” being tickled, her new Melody Block toy, which Andrew brought home for her earlier this week. Oh, and she loves wrapping paper.

Dear baby girl,

You’re 19 weeks old today. And wearing your guinea pig sweater. It’s so funny, as I remember buying it last March, and thinking it looked huge. But it fits perfectly.

This was probably the most trying week of your life thus far, for you and for your momma. You turned into a baby grizzly bear who won’t sleep at night. I feel so bad for you and I’m sorry those little teeth are making their way through your gums. I’m doing everything I can.

Calamari is taking a beating. You don’t like your frozen teething rings and you barely tolerate a wet wash cloth. But you love stuffing that octopus’s legs, methodically and one by one, into your mouth. 

What else? You’re sitting up by yourself, which is really an achievement. I just have to make a soft circle of things around you, as you always eventually tip. You love baths in your big duck. You grab everything. At TGI Friday’s today, you assaulted mustard and ketchup bottles. Tipped over the salt and pepper shakers. Tried to nab your poppa’s steak knife. Entertained yourself by looking at the pictures in the cocktail menu. Stood on the table. Stuffed a napkin in your mouth. Almost touched a hot plate. Knocked your toys on the floor. Grabbed the waitress’s finger. Kicked a shoe off. Laughed crazily at the man in the booth behind us. There is so much oomph in you.

You take more energy from us every single day. You are changing and growing so fast. But you give us more every day. Bigger smiles, longer and louder laughs. And so much cuteness it’s almost hard to bear.

Looking forward to that first tooth popping through. Let’s get some sleep tonight, k?

Love,

Your momma

Kiddo, you’re 15 weeks old today! It’s getting kind of ridiculous to keep counting in weeks, but my, how time is flying. We’re busy getting ready for your first plane ride, and spending some quality time with your daddy-o before we go.

You’re so cute these days, I could just eat your chunker cheeks for lunch.

Dear Rosemary,

14 weeks old today! And it’s your first Halloween. They don’t really do up Halloween American-style here, so we went into central London to hang out. You were such a good baby in the car on the way in, but you slept through some truly fantastic cars we happened to pass. We saw some fun fall stuff and your dad got a hair cut (which he later called “the Rosemary” since he’s pretty much bald on the sides). Then we went to our favorite burrito place near Oxford Circus, and you sat on my lap and were quite fixated on my burrito.

I don’t have any photos of it, because you were in my arms, but you loved walking around the giant John Lewis at Oxford Circus, too. We looked for kitschy salt and pepper shakers, but there were no good ones to be found. They do have a kick-ass area to change babies and breastfeed though, and you enjoyed the huge mirrors and bright lights. You were a happy baby!

Happy first Halloween. Next year, we’ll trick or treat, kiddo.

Love,

Mom

You’re three months old, Rosie Bear! Exactly three months ago today you were finally finally in our arms. Sometimes, just as we’re falling asleep, your dad runs his finger across the scar on my belly. And we remember. We call it “Rosemary’s escape hatch.”

Sometimes when I hold you against my chest, I graze my face against your forehead and take a slow, deep breath. It is the sweetest smelling spot. I periodically wish time would just stop for a while so I can stay in a single, quiet moment with you. Another one that I like—you latch on to nurse and take huge gulps, barely remembering to breathe. Then you suddenly pull off and tip your head slightly, you realize you can see my face. You stare straight into my eyes and smile. And milk runs out of your mouth and goes everywhere—into the folds of your neck, all over my t-shirt. I don’t even care, because I live to see that smile.

Your eyes seem more intensely blue and your legs and arms are getting stronger. You prop yourself up on your chest with your tiny elbows tucked in, and you look at the world around you with such interest. Your head bobs a little, like Stevie Wonder, when you get tired of holding it up. You are a good little sleeper…we got lucky. Sometimes you go through three or four outfits in one day. You suck on your hands and the sleeves of your shirts get damp. I worry you’ll get cold if you stay in them. You spit up alllll down the front of yourself. Or your diaper doesn’t do its job.

This month there have been shots, almost-full-on-laughs, your doorway bouncer, two full days without a poo, a Halloween party, a bad cold, the start of rolling over, trips to the park and the farmers’ market, Star Wars, growing out of lots of clothes. Your first autumn.

Occasionally, we’ll be out and about and someone chats with us. You turn to look at me, and someone will say, “Oh, she knows her momma’s voice.” That makes me happier than anything. You make me happier than anything.

Our girl is 12 weeks old today! And doesn’t she just get cuter by the day? I was looking at some pictures of her from several weeks ago, and she didn’t quite have her chubby little cheeks yet.

She is so curious and wiggly, you have no idea. I am sure she’s going to be a handful when she starts crawling. She wants to sit up, but seems frustrated that she can’t physically do these things herself. She kicks and stiffens her body and wiggles wiggles wiggles. In the fourth picture above, you can see her trying to figure out how to get her red bunny. She’s always trying to work through things, grab things, and touch them. When she is nursing, she will grab onto my shirt to just sit and rub it with her fingers. Sticking things in her mouth is a new favorite, too. She was eating the buttons on this outfit like they were the most delicious thing ever. 

She is growing like a weed, too. She was barely fitting into 0-3 month size and now every day, it seems like I have to dig into the 3-6 month drawer of clothes.

She still loves the bath, and going for walks outside. She’s getting less fond of the car seat, but doesn’t mind sitting in her bouncer in the kitchen watching us cook. She is almost too big for her moses basket, but I can’t bring myself to move her to her crib yet. She’s a very good sleeper at night, but isn’t too keen on napping during the day unless it’s on me. I think she’s afraid she’ll miss out on the action.

Oh, she’s a cutie! I can’t believe she’s almost three months old…

Rosie Bear is 11 weeks old today. Sometimes I look at her and I just cannot fathom that those little knees were the same ones that poked my ribs. And she is just perfection beyond perfection. A tiny little version of a person. Little dimples on her knuckles leading to mini fingers, tiny eyelashes, perfect little lips and cherub cheeks. And every week her personality radiates a little more.

There are so many things I want to remember. How my stomach twists when her face is moist with real tears. The face she makes that we call “the saddest baby in the world.” (Oh, I’ve been trying to get a picture of it for so long, because this face is SO funny and heartbreaking). But I just want to make everything right for her. I always want to see her wide-mouthed toothless grin. How she sometimes just does not want to sleep because there’s too much to look at. And in the dark, when she finally passes out on my chest and I am carrying her to bed, I know exactly where to step so that the floorboards don’t creak and wake her up.

Her hair is getting slightly thicker. When it’s wet, you can brush it into a combover and she looks like a 90-year-old Andrew. Sometimes, when she’s finished nursing, I gently stroke her head (it feels like a peach) and her eyes melt shut.

She’s so amazing. Even when she needs constant attention or wakes me up at an ungodly hour, my love for her skyrockets every single day. 

Dear Rosemary,

You’re 10 weeks old! The sounds you’ve started making are so cute. “Goooaaaaaahhh” is kind of your favorite word. You’re smiley and alert and love looking at our faces and chatting up a storm to us. You wiggle, wiggle, wiggle. I’m actually a little frightened for when you’re mobile. Sometimes, I can tell you’re so tired, but you just don’t want to close your eyes. I think you’re afraid you might miss something cool.

You are so long and getting chubbier by the day, it seems. I had to take another big pile of clothes out of your drawers that no longer fit yesterday. And you do go through a lot of clothes…between your diapers that sometimes don’t contain things, and your gurgling and spit up.

You just get cuter by the day, kid!

Love,

Mom

Dear Rosemary,
You are two months old. Two whole months. You have changed so much already, but I know we’ve barely scratched the surface of change, of growing. Perhaps the most amazing thing is how you’ve changed me. It’s as if a light was flicked on in a dark room and now I see things so differently. What were just shapes and shadows are now real and colorful and full of complexities that simply did not exist before.

You are seconds away from doing a big belly laugh, and I cannot wait to hear it for the first time. You kick your strong little legs with such enthusiasm, I half expect you to start running any day. You are slowly finding your hands. Dad brought you home a pirate octopus toy named Calamari, and you like to grab his legs and hat. He makes crinkly sounds, and jingles, and each of his legs are a different texture for you to explore. The first time we hooked him to your car seat, you stared with your big, beautiful eyes the entire ride home. You are starting to raise your head when I put you on your tummy—admittedly I had to trick you into doing this by making it so you were lifting your head to see the TV. Oh how you love the lights and sounds of the TV. I came down from a nap not long ago to find you and your dad watching Demolition Man. Oi.

I’m a little sad, because you’ve grown out of some of your newborn clothes. You won’t ever get to wear some of those sleepsuits again, as you can no longer straighten your legs in them. I resisted for a while, because, hey, you like your legs tucked up anyway, but I think we’ve reached a point of no return, my little 10-pounder. When I think of you as an infant, I will think of you in a soft, bright cotton sleepsuit with pink ladybugs on your footsies. I will always remember how big it was when we first dressed you in the hospital. 

You have started to (maybe) not mind drinking out of a bottle. You took a bath in your laundry basket bucket. You completely do not want a pacifier. Ever. You peed, literally more times than I can count, on your dad while he was changing you. You got your first shots. You met new friends. You refused to nap anywhere but my arms. You cried real tears. You tried infant strawberry-flavored acephetamine, which was probably quite a shock to have in your mouth after only ever tasting milk. We had to adjust the Baby Bjorn because you got bigger. We took you to baby yoga. We put you in a sack to sleep, and in front of the computer to Skype with your grandparents. We took you in the steamy bathroom to help with your first cold.

I can’t wait to see what’s next, little girl. You make even the most mundane days so exciting.

Love,
Mom