At four months old, my little lovely, you've completed your "fourth trimester" and you are sweetness incarnate. You squeal and smile, kick and coo and light up my days. You now focus your laser beam of charm directly on us, rather than just smiling at the world in general, and it melts my heart into a gooey puddle. Every morning when you wake up, you put a smile on my face so wide it threatens to split my head open. I love to watch you yawn and stretch, then realize I'm there grinning at you like an idiot, and you respond in kind.
Last week you weighed in at 9 lbs 6 oz, and you have just about outgrown your newborn clothes, though you swim in the next size up so your wardrobe is a little awkward at the moment. You've got fat wee wrists and knuckle dimples, chubby cheeks and yummy little baby fat rolls on your thighs.
You've also discovered your tongue is a plaything. You curl it up, roll it around, stick it out as far as you can, and watch with fascination when I mirror your expressions back at you. Speaking of expressions, you have the ability to arch one eyebrow and it's hilarious sometimes when you deploy that sophisticated expression at uncanny moments. Like when your daddy is dancing to get a reaction, and you give him this look like, "Really, daddy? You are so uncool." He laughs back and assures you that it will be just as bad when he dances at your wedding.
Often when you're hanging out in the living room, you catch sight of a picture we've had enlarged, but haven't yet figured out where to hang, so it's currently living on our mantle piece. It's a close up of you a few days old, smiling broadly in your sleep. Whenever you notice it you start grinning as well, so you are, quite literally, cracking yourself up. It's okay - you're not a lunatic. That photo always makes me smile too.
Though you are largely good-natured, you do have demanding moments. You aren't particularly talkative yet, but I know that whenever you start to squeal and vocalize, it's actually a friendly assertion that you need something, and a handy warning that means you'll soon be fussing if I don't attend to you. You make me feel like a supermom since you're so easily placated. But sometimes I think that you are simply an old soul that realizes I'm new at the motherhood thing. I don't always get it right when trying to figure out what you need, but you figure I should get points for effort. It's like you're saying, "Eh... I give you 6 outta 10; let's just go with it."
Now if you'd just give up crying out for that 5 minute snack at 3:30 most mornings, you'd be pretty much perfect. But if that's the worst you're throwing at me, there's really nothing to complain about. I know, baby girl, that this motherhood gig isn't always going to be sunshine and roses, but four months in it's looking pretty good to me.