Dear Ian, Tuesday you turned four months old and as your Grandma said, you're not a baby anymore, you're a little boy! I have been writing this for the last three days, so I think we're finally getting to the point where days blur together. I feel like the next newsletter I'll be writing to you, you'll be getting your driver's license.
Yesterday we took you for your 4 month check up and you did great! You're 17 pounds now and still well in the 95th percentile for height. Already you're getting used to the sleeves being too short on all your clothes. Study hard and get a good job so you can afford shirts and pants that fit!
I took the afternoon off so that we could cuddle after your vaccinations, but you were a real trooper. You hardly fussed once we got home and after a three hour nap, you woke up all giggles and smiles. I live for those kinds of days.
You've been rolling over like a champ now, and it's hard to keep you on your back for long. This makes diaper changing a bit more adventurous as you try to wedge yourself into the railing. Just this week you've started sleeping on your belly, usually with your butt in the air. You can easily hold your head up and are working on little baby push ups.
We've also finally gotten to where you can fit in a simple sling. When you were a month old it was like trying to hold Jello in a bag as you slid and wiggled everywhere. But now you just pop right in. This would be great for carrying you around except that you weigh 17 pounds (!) so all that weight on one shoulder kills me!
You're chatty and smiley and all around good-natured. We're still having our daily lunch dates over at day care and it's something I look forward to very much. Soon enough we'll be past that stage, so I consider myself lucky to get this much time with you.
You have a killer grip on anything you can get a hold of, and usually that involve my shirt while I'm trying to change your diaper. You get this really serious look on your face when you grab me, like "WAIT! Let's talk this over. We don't have to resort to baby wipes, do we?"
Speaking of talking, you have "discovered your voice" as they say in those baby books. Last night while the Olympics were on TV, you sat in your chair and squealed at the hockey players! It was hard to tell the difference between you and your father.
We have lots of debates over who you look like. I should really start a survey. You certainly have your father's barrel chest. And you have your mother's complexion. We'll see if you keep up this enthusiasm for hockey. But I know you're my kid because we both think farts are hilarious.