Today you are 9 weeks old and you are just the sweetest little bean. You are smiley when you're awake and you sleep well when you're asleep (your favorite place to sleep is in the swing or on someone's body). You rarely ever cry and you absolutely light up for your siblings. You are like a little tiny ray of light, I swear. I know that makes me sound like a hippie (I'm not - despite my lazy hair removal habits) but it's really true. I speak the truth (except sometimes when telemarketers call - I like to tell them lies).
It's a good thing you are the cutest, best-smelling, smiliest, mellowest baby ever because you love to spit-up all your breastmilk. ALL OVER ME. And all over the floor and all over your playmat. Between you and your sister, who has started changing her clothes about seven hundred times a day, I am getting really good at doing laundry.
But guess what? I don't care. You can spit up all over me as much as you want. That's how much I love you.
You're getting to be awesome at your neck control and pretty soon you'll be sitting up in your little Bumbo seat and getting all BIG and chubby. I just ordered you a bunch of sun gear so we can spend the summer at the pool and beach. I already sunburned you once and I vow never to do it again. People will probably make fun of me, but you're going to be the most well-protected baby at the pool. You just wait and see.
I love you like the dickens, Baby Bean. If I could sleep in the crook of your neck, I would. But you're tiny and I am huge, so that's out. That's maybe a little too Of Mice and Men.
Love,
Mama
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