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Dear Grant, (My Big Red Boy, Big G, Itty-Bitty Bumpy, Little Chunky-Chunky)

Call me an overly emotional, mommy-brained crazy lady, but just writing your name and all the little pet names I call you every day before I kiss your fluffy pink cheeks, makes my chest ache and my eyes misty. You, my second son, have darted into my world and stolen my heart.


Before you were born I wrote you a letter. I made some promises to you in that letter, and for the most part I feel like I’m sticking by them. Though, I do compare your milestones to your brother’s because I’ve learned it is impossible not to. It is so much fun to see you grow and change at such a different rate than he did, yet have so many of the same characteristics. You favor your brother and Daddy, yet there is something there that looks totally different from all of us, something all yours. You are very much like Truman was as a baby in the way of personality; sweet, smiley, content and you never cry unless there is an obvious reason. I guess I have been extremely blessed with “easy” babies. You sleep really well, all snuggled up against me every night. You have an excellent appetite, and have been a nursing pro from the second you latched, which was about twenty minutes after you were born.

You are incredibly active. At four and half months, you are rolling over on your side and almost completely onto your tummy. When we put you on your belly, you tuck your knees under and try to crawl forward! When you want to get somewhere while laying on your back, you arch up and shoot yourself upward, almost a jump! Even while sitting in the swing or car seat, you are on the move. You grasp and play with toys, you wiggle around and like to be in motion. You like to be a part of it all, and need to be able to see at least one of us at all times. Your smile is gummy and huge and it wrinkles up your nose and makes your eyes squint. Seriously, it is one of the most beautiful sights my eyes have experienced. You are constantly smiling, yet stingy with your giggles.

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It takes hard work to coax a laugh out of you, and when you finally let one go it sounds rusty and awkward; surprising to both of us. You have just the perfect amount of chub; a delightfully round belly, roley thighs and two sweet chins. While Truman was chubby at your age as well, he was shorter. You are so very tall! It seems that you use most of your calories to grow in length, whipping through clothing faster than I can hang it in your closet. You won’t be 5 months for another week, but you are wearing 6-9 month clothes and those are looking short lately.

Everyone said I wouldn’t be able to do all the little special things for you that I did for your brother when he was a baby; like the monthly photos and the monthly footprints, and writing all the details in the baby book. I have to admit they were right. I take you every month to have professional photos and I take my own with your months-old sign, but you do not have footprints past the first set at the hospital, Grant. Your baby book is sadly outdated and the journal I bought when I was pregnant, hoping to write in all of the little details of your every move, was last opened right before your birth. I want to update it all. I really do and someday, I will.

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Time is just moving so fast now. Every night instead of penciling in all the details or blackening your feet for prints, I’m holding you tight Itty-Bitty. I’m squeezing you, nursing you, and whispering to you. I’m rubbing your gorgeous round head full of wild orange hair and I’m talking to you. I lift you up and jiggle you around trying to hear that crazy unseasoned giggle. I bury my face in your neck to breathe you in, that indescribably delicious scent that is more than just “baby,” it is you. I cup your face and kiss your cheeks until I think they might fall right off. I soak in every single second of you that I can. I know you’ll only be this size for a millisecond. I’ll lower my head to write in that journal and when I look up you’ll be running down the hall leaving behind a trail of cheerios and building blocks. Soon, you’ll push my hands off of your face and wiggle away from my kisses. You’ll insist on doing it all yourself, and you’ll want to walk instead of being carried in my arms. I know all about that now and I didn’t know about that before, when I was spending my precious time on writing things down. I am selfishly committing you to my memory instead of recording each one, and I refuse to apologize for it.

So, I hope you can accept these letters for the time being in absence of a perfectly filled out baby book. Please know that you are everything I could have ever hoped for and more than I ever could of imagined. Every cell in my body is filled with never ending love for you, my darling red boy.