Dear Tess,
This month has come with lots of changes. First, you've left the "drunken midget" stage and entered the "pterodactyl impersonation" phase. Meaning you're more in control of your body and less likely to fling your head into my chest, but you've found your voice box and enjoy figuring out how high and long you can scream in a flying dinosaur-type way.
You found your feet but are unsure what they're for, other than repeatedly pulling your socks off.
Pulling your pacifier out of your mouth has become a common occurrence. However, you've shown a much improved ability to put it back into your mouth. Meaning that you pull it out at least five-hundred and eighty-two times today and you put it back it twice. You try often and are successful rarely, but I'll take it.
We added formula to your diet this week. For no other reason than to let your mother get more sleep. You took to it like I expect you to take to Jack Daniel's and good beer. Cheers!
Thursday night you and I had a date night at Wild Wing with Uncle Kit. Everything was going well until you blew out your diaper. And by "blew out" I mean you crapped so hard, it could have been used in a Mythbusters' episode. I have no idea how you shit so hard as to blow dung out the back of your diaper, but you do. Don't get me wrong, it's impressive. But ease up a little bit, you're going to blow an o-ring or something.
Friday night, you met your great-grandfather yesterday and he stared at you with love in his eyes. He just turned 90, so I don't know if you'll ever remember him, but he'll remember you. There was a wonderful sparkle in his eyes. Yes, you're special, but don't let that go to your head.
But the past 6 weeks have made the first 3 months worth it. You respond and interact. You smile and frown. You are starting to play and your personality develops more every day. You are a very sweet and tolerant child and I find myself loving you more everyday.
Love,
Dad
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