For Liam, Three Months

My baby boy,

I need to apologize to you.

I said I was done after Ray-Ray entered the world, all eleven pounds of her. Daddy and I were set: two of us, two kids. Equal numbers are important in these things, you know. We were already pretty convinced that your sisters would join numbers against us soon enough; giving them another member to their team seemed like pure folly.

But whatever misgivings about your impending arrival I may have had, they're gone now. Here you are, weighing in at a delicate 9 lb. 1 oz. (more than Fi, but less than Ray), born ten days late (with no intention of coming any sooner). I fell in love immediately. From birth, you have been sweet, kind, and calm. Like your sisters, you have been blessed with a preternatural alertness to your surroundings (you are watching us, taking it all in, mastering the inexplicable physics of the under five crowd) and an exceptionally strong neck.

By one month, you were smiling. By two, you were rolling. In fact, we watched you methodically teach yourself to roll from your back to your belly (a skill most five month olds have yet to master) by using the sleeves of your one-piece sea-animal-themed fuzzy baby pajamas as leverage. it took you a full day, but you did it. And there has been no stopping you since.

You love to stand, to roll, to observe. You love being held and cuddled, you love kisses, and you love books (preferably with flaps to paw at). You love your family - even your crazy sisters who occasionally scare you. You adore your Mammy and your talks with Jampa Joe. You exude love. Are love. And, possibly represent the best qualities in all of us.