Dear Fife,
Two months! That means my maternity leave is three-fourths over; in a week we head to Virginia to celebrate Thanksgiving and when we come back I go back to work. I'm not really dreading it; we've had some good time together and working from home makes things pretty easy, plus I'll only have two full weeks and two partial weeks until Christmas, so it should make for a good easing in.
As I suspected at the end of last month, just when you began to get a little bit boring you started smiling at us and we got excited about you all over again. The kids still fight over who you are looking at more, and it's all the more desperate now because of the smiles; you and Lucy have long conversations and Oscar gives you endless kisses all over your face.
After your behemoth start in life you have slowed down considerably: at your two month check-up you were 12lbs, 4.5 oz (75th percentile). The doctor says you are probably just finding your proper place on the chart. Like your brother and sister, you remain extremely tall: 25 inches puts you into what they call the 100th percentile, which I'm still pretty sure is impossible, but I take it to mean that at the moment you are the tallest 2-month-old in the entire world.
We all really like you. You are still so nice to hold, just really the perfect heft. Your long hair is styling itself into a wavy mohawk in the new Fall rain. You fall asleep for the night between 7 and 8, just like your brother and sister, giving us a few lovely hours every evening to just be grownups. Everyone that holds you says you smell really good.
It's true, you really do.
Love,
Mama