Modest Goddess

Dear baby,

Today is July 17, and we celebrated your grandfather's birthday today. You're growing this amazing fine blond hair on your head, and your cousin Fiona loves it. She loves to pat your head -- gently, as encouraged by your aunt Sue, who says Fiona might like to pet your head because it's the only part of the cat she's allowed to touch. I also love to rub your head. It feels good, coarse and yet silky. Early this morning, I fetched you out of your crib and brought you into my bed to nurse, and I woke up awhile later to find you'd rolled all the way over off the bed and into the co-sleeper that's still set up next to the bed. You were lying quite peacefully on the cowboy throw pillows I put there after taking them off my bed. You gave me a secret little smile when I leaned over to check you out. We took you to the doctor Tuesday and you weighed in at 23 pounds, 15 ounces and were 26 1/2 inches long. We have to start you on solid foods, but we haven't had time this week to get all the documentation set up -- the video camera, the still camera -- because your uncle Justin and cousin Alexis are visiting. Alexis is very sweet to you and coos to you when you get fussy. Uncle Justin held you Friday while Alexis and I swam at Sunken Meadow. We took you in the water then, too. You like the water. I hold you close and swish you back and forth, and you never cry, not even when your face is accidentally splashed. Alexis showed me her moves -- her backstroke, freestyle and dog-paddle -- and we played Marco Polo. We saw tiny black crabs frantically swimming in the water, about the size of my fingernail, tossed by the waves near the shore. Uncle Justin scooped one up in his hand. Alexis was initially terrified, then splashed closer for a better look. She was also a little intimidated by the presence of fish in the water. "Why are they not in a tank?" she asked.

You support your weight on your legs so well, and when I put you down on your back, you love to flip yourself over and hold your head up high and look around to see what's going on. I'm holding you on my lap a lot to get you to sit up by yourself, and you're getting better at it, but the pressure on your tummy makes you spit up a lot. You don't seem to mind it, though. I'm hoping that soon, your trunk will be strong enough to allow you to sit up by yourself. The doctor told us to put a pillow across your lap and a toy on top of it to encourage you to use your hands for playing instead of propping. But so far, you tend to sag over unless I surround you with lots of pillows.

You are such a happy baby. You see someone, study them for a moment, then a huge smile breaks out across your face and your whole body spasms, and then you turn your head away, coyly, I think. Your daddy does such a good job of making you laugh. Your laugh is like sunlight, like a brook. Daddy has no self-consciousness about making silly faces at you, at making noises or dancing around or generally acting like a fool, and you love it. I've found a new game with you, too ... I put you in the co-sleeper when I'm making the bed and drop a corner of the sheet over your face. I say, "Where's the baby?" and you flail at the covers, and then I jerk it back and say, "There's the baby!" and you smile and laugh gleefully. Sometimes, you're able to move the sheet a little bit by yourself, and I've decided it counts if I can see a corner of your eye. Sometimes, you can kick the sheet clean off. I'm very proud of you then.

I'm so glad you're so cheerful around everyone. Leon and I call you our little goodwill ambassador. On Saturday, when you were coming back from your visit to Connecticut on the ferry, a woman came up to Leon and said, "I just have to tell you -- your baby is adorable." And you are pretty damn adorable. You are my jewel, my cream, the apple of my eye and the peach and the pear and the blueberry.