Lewis, my life has become a series of half finished cups of coffee. I find them everywhere. The bathroom, the kitchen, the dining room table, the car.
I watch with completete amusement and disgust as wet farts fill up your diapers and simultaneously create the most hilarious faces. The greatest challenge faced by your 24 inch long body each day is the gas bubble trapped inside. I admire your dedicated concentration while you work it out.
I also admire the look of shock and awe when you notice a light bulb. The whole world stops so you can adequately gaze in wide eyed wonder.
I can see a proud twinkle in your eye when you stare at your fist. Yep, its all yours kid. Punch that blue elephant in the face. Then your mom will cheer. Never again will you have free reign to punch things, so soak it all up.
You and I have private conversations all day long about your food, your squishy belly and chipmunk cheeks. I try not to talk about these things in public or around adults - but being at home all day with a baby makes the transition back to adult coversation tricky.
"Don't talk to a baby like a baby" they say. I try my best, but most of the time I fail. It's hard to comfort your tears when you just hit yourself in the face and use a grown up, adult voice while I do it.
Also, its true that when you first came out and we took our first family photo I thought you had a striking resemblence to Quasimoto. I looked like a puffy version of myself, and your dad was as handsome as ever, of course, - but since then you have grown quite nicely into your large Norweigen head and your gorgeous blue eyes. I think you are totes adorbs (and thankfully I have de-puffed).
I love you kid,
I'm terrified of clipping your nails. Sorry for all the tiny scratch marks.