Elsa. Elsa Girl. Elsa Belsa. ElsieBels. Els. Sweet girl, you are three months old, and we are completely in love with you. We are not entirely sure that we can ever have more babies because you, my dear, are quite possibly the world’s easiest baby. You rarely cry. You fall asleep on your own if it’s been too long since we made eye contact with you (is this why middle children are so easy going?), and you burst into gummy smiles the moment you see anyone’s face, your beautiful blue eyes turning upwards in warmth and happiness. We love you and are so happy you are ours.
You have had no trouble growing. Your feet poke at the ends of our 3-6 month jammies, completely out of space. You have chins upon chins, no neck to speak of, and rolls all over your arms, wrists, and thighs. And your cheeks, Elsa. Your cheeks. They are taking over your face, and they are unbelievable. They are firm and round and chipmunk-like. I cannot stop kissing them.
Your smiles punctuate our day. On April 4 (when you were 2 months, 2 weeks old), you had your first legit laugh. I was lifting you up and down off my lap, and saying a breathy “haaaa” as you came down, frog-leg style. Totally hilarious. You were smiling hugely and gggaaaahing all over the place. You’ve laughed just because Owen’s laughing. You only need to hear him to smile; you light up whenever he’s near. And the other night, I was rocket launching you towards him, making you “kiss attack” his face, and you laughed. You love that brother of yours, and even though he basically has a heart attack if your feet touch him when we’re all sitting together, he loves you too. He talks to you in the sweetest falsetto and brings you toys and a pacifier when you’re sad. I can’t wait for you to know each other.
We talk, you and I. You look me right in the face and oooh and gah and cooo for minutes on end. You smile as I respond: “Really? You don’t say!” I love it and pray we can always have good talks. Your days are marked by the word placid. You sit quietly in the swing, in the bouncy chair, hands brought together over your chest, usually at least one fist in your mouth. And recently, you, like your brother before you, have fallen for our dangly, jangly birds. You stare at them. You catch sight of them out of the corner of your eye, and a smile takes over your face. You are even starting to take swings at the toys within your reach.
You are, by far, the best at spitting up in this house. Your spitups are frequent and often massive. We are constatly saying, “Where’s a burp cloth?!” even though we have no fewer than 25 of them in this house. You cry for only the most justifiable of reasons – gas and hunger – only launching into a brief but loud grunt if we don’t respond soon enough. Mostly though, you’ll be struggling silently, arms doggy paddling in the air – left, right, left right. And recently, when we set you down, you have taken to looking up at us with the most tragic eyes, pursing your lips, and giving out this little whimper. It is heartbreaking.
Elsa, you mostly sleep through the night – maybe 5 out of 7 nights of the week. We are kind of in awe of it, wondering what it is we did to get such a good sleeper. You are still in the bassinet by our bed at nights, and I am kind of terrified to transfer you to the crib at night, fearing an end to our solid sleep.
This past month, we were visited by your Grandma Pam, Auntie Vic, and cousin Luke. They took such good care of us for a few days. And then we did your first overnight at your Grandma and Grandpa Berget’s house. You took it all in like a champ, even when I dressed you up like a doll for your first Easter, alternating between accessorizing you with a pink bow, pink flower headband, and a bonnet from when I was a baby – you looked so adorable in all three that I just couldn’t decide. It still surprises me how much I love dressing you up.
Elsa, every morning, usually after a solid milk breakfast and a diaper change, you look at me with your big blue smiling eyes. And every morning, I thank God for you. I thank Him for the happiness you bring to me, to this house. I thank Him for what seems to be a peaceful spirit in you. I thank Him that I get to be the one (along with your Dad and Owen) who knows you best. And really, I can’t wait to know you more. That said, stay small and snuggly forever. Because having you asleep on my shoulder is all I ever wanted.
I love you so much,
Things You Love: pacifier, nursing, a good burp, Owen, your jingle birds, being held in the Ergo carrier, the swing, the animals in your bouncy chair, staring at the fridge with its magnets, being looked at, silly mouth sounds (like raspberry lips) and voice fluctuations, being held, sleeping, baths
Things You Hate: having clothes taken on or off of you, being outside…sometimes, being put down after being held, being unable to burp, having your neck folds cleaned and dried