letter to henry : 2 months

Dear Henry,

You are 2 months old today. Happy 1/6th birthday!

I had meant to write you when you turned 1 month old—my goal has always been to write you a letter every month—but those first few weeks flew by in a blur. Our family who helped keep us afloat had just left, and your papa & I were learning how to manage without them. We were lucky when we could string a coherent sentence together, much less write an eloquent paragraph or two.

But now, another month later, I can proudly say we have mastered some ropes and are sailing fairly smoothly.

Photo by Sabrina Ward Harrison

The three of us are getting to know each other more and more each day. Your papa & I have learned that you hate having a wet diaper, that you love being swaddled when you sleep, that you will let us know when you’re upset and, if we do a good job fixing what’s ailing you, you will give us a great big smile saying so. And you, I hope, are learning that we will feed you when you’re hungry, that we will change your diaper when it’s wet and that we will rush to your side the moment we hear the faintest cry.

I have spent hours just staring at you, studying every feature from your head to your toes. Your hair stands straight up no matter how much we comb it (you got that from me). Your eyebrows curl into a furrow like you are thinking too hard (that’s surely from your pops). You’ve got full moon cheeks, big smiling eyes and a button nose that’s impossible not to push. Though not exactly lean, you are long. You have big, strong hands, and your socks shoot like rubberbands off your not-very-tiny feet.

Photo by Miguel Vasconcellos

Your Uncle Henry read that you were born on the day of “the Standout,” one day of the year when a baby is destined to be admired. I can’t help but think it might be true. You already seem to have so many admirers. They fawn over you in person and through photos, remarking how cute you are. Some people have even said that you are the most beautiful baby they’ve ever seen. I know they might just be saying that and I’m more than a little biased, but I agree. You are such a looker.

Spending time with you proves that you are more than just an adorable face, though. You are already such good company, too. You are calm and observant, happy and playful. You are content to sit and look around, at the art on the walls, out the sunny window or off in the distance. You are easily engaged. You like the made-up songs we sing and the silly games we play. You love to talk. Even if your end of the conversation is more coo than chatter, you seem to really want to communicate with us, and we sit and gab to each other like old friends.

Before you were born, your papa & I nicknamed you President Muscles, and it is kind of laughable how fitting it is. You fought your way out of the NICU shortly after you were born, and you escape every other swaddle like Houdini. You have been lifting your head since you were a week old, and you rolled over from your belly to back after a month. For a while there, I was worried I wouldn’t be able to feed and nourish you the way I want to, but we must be doing something right because you keep on growing and getting stronger. I am so proud of you.

We haven’t shown you much of the world yet, but we have introduced you to so many of the people we love. That has been one of my greatest joys as a mother: Just being together, you and me and your papa and our ever growing family. As you get older, you will find that family—both the ones you were born with and the family you make—is the greatest treasure in life. Their laughter and joy feed us. Their love and support sustain us.

I will do my best to feed and sustain you, too, my dear and darling son.

Photo by Papa

Two months! It feels like the blink of an eye and a lifetime all at once. Two months, and I already can’t imagine my life without you—before you were smiling, before you were in my arms, before you even were in my belly. It’s just as well, though. I am far, far happier having you here with us.

All my love,
Mama

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