Today you are four months old and I have one thing to say: Dr. Karp is a big, fat liar.

After hitting the three month mark you didn't magically become an easier baby. You didn't stop startling and start sleeping through the night. If anything you became fussier. Then, suddenly, about halfway to month four, you woke up, and said, "Hey, that thing over there. I WANT IT."

The End.

That's been the last few weeks with you. You spot an object on the table and demand it. I hold it within your reach, you swing at it, make contact, and bring it to your mouth. If it's a glass of water - this being your most favorite object right now - your little mouth is open with the tongue pulsing before it's even near your face.

We took you to Austin, Texas at the end of June to introduce you to the Rutledge/Reinoso side of the family. It was hot and humid just like Texas should be, and that's where we discovered that you like to lick cups.


I thought it was the flaming pattern that had your attention, but no, once it was near your face you knew exactly what to do.

Also? You might be teething. But the Internet tells me that teething could last from now until 9 months, so I'm not holding my breath. You've become a biter, not in a bad way, and a drooler.


We broke out the Sophie, the freezable bee, the tortuga, and anything else bitable to satiate you. So long as you continue to suck on my nipple and bite these other things, we're good.


This has been the month of Sleep.

I had no idea you had to teach a baby how to sleep and you're not big on sleep. In fact, I think you'd prefer to never sleep. I thought I was born with eyes that cannot close, but girl, you got me beat.

"I am a Thing-Finder, and when you're a Thing-Finder, you don't have a minute to spare."
- Pippi Longstocking

You are so curious and so wide-eyed, full of wonder, that I think your theory is that if your eyes closed for an hour, you'd miss the world go by. And you would! But it'll come right back around, I promise.

Some days your naps just slip right out from under us because we've been so busy touching leaves and smelling roses and petting the dog.


I finally read a book on sleep, one that I could get behind, and I think the gentle wisdom I learned combined with your age has slowly turned you into a better sleeper.

Which means I've been getting better sleep.

Which means everyone has a better day.

You're bound to discover I've got issues with children's toys. You'll never play with anything requiring batteries within the walls of our home. Never.

Never say never.


Your Grandpa Rutledge bought you a bouncy chair and shipped it to our house while we were still in Texas. It's a lovely contraption, but it requires batteries - get this - IN TWO PLACES. One set makes the chair vibrate (it didn't come with those batteries so the chair does not vibrate unless one of us gently kicks it) and one set makes the big plastic butterfly sing a tune. It came with those batteries. And THEY'RE SCREWED IN.

Now why baby toys can't come with Radiohead programmed in their butterflies or even a 50 Cent ringtone would be better than the beepy tune this thing makes, I DO NOT KNOW, but the worst part? YOU LIKE IT.

"Dammit," I thought when you smiled and continued to smile every time that thing went off.

Except, as my mother pointed out, I've got to stop with the sailor-speak. Which is hard for me. I'm sorta in love with the word FUCK and her siblings. And she also pointed out that once I think it's time to cut out the foul language, it'll be too late, so I better start now. So I have.

Soon you'll be telling the dog, "Calm the F down."

I think that's a fair compromise.

Over the last few weeks I've emptied our house of maternity clothes. They are our clothes, the clothes we wore, you and me. It was hard to pack them up in a bag and set them aside, but two lovely mamas have come and gathered up what they can use, they and their babies.

I took a tiny bit of that money and bought a letterpress & on a chain to wear. I have always loved the & but towards the end of the pregnancy I was OBSESSED with the &. I didn't get it at first, but then I realized it symbolized so many things. I have missed being an & with you.

One evening you were dosing when you suddenly opened your eyes and looked up at me, reached over to me, and we went from being two to two-together until you rolled your eyes back and were once again asleep.

I've never wanted you back inside since that night.

I'm so glad you're here.

Happy Fourth Monthday.