So I know in my last post I said we are going to call you the DSG because of your crazy pooing skills. However, we have since come to realize that the title of Diabolical Shitting Genius does not fully encompass your machiavellian deviousness. We had to think of a new nickname that could apply to all of your antics, and thus we have decided to refer to you as the PAB: Punk-Ass Baby. And Cletus, there are days when I think that your Pabbiness knows no bounds.
Take, for example, your refusal to nap more than 20 minutes at a time during the day. I understand that you spent nine months in a comfortable amniotic jacuzzi, constantly being rocked whenever I moved. By contrast, your crib must seem like a vast, desolate desert - if a desert was made up of MEMORY FOAM, FUZZY BLANKETS, AND A SLEEP SHEEP, not to mention climate-controlled at 77 degrees. Seriously, Cletus. How can you not sleep in THAT? Children in Nigeria would kill for your crib.
Let's also talk about the fact that so far, your conversation skills are lacking. I realize that you might not understand the finer details of politics, but when I am explaining to you the political differences between the red and blue states in the upcoming presidential election, try to forget that you can't see colors yet and just follow the flow of conversation. Trust me, your ability to talk about the Affordable Healthcare Act will impress your second grade teacher someday when all of your classmates are still learning to read.
Okay, maybe I'm being too hard on you. One of the things I have to remember now that I'm a parent is that there are two sides to every coin. So you don't sleep during the day. You do sleep at least 5 hours at night, which is nice (I'm not sure what changes when the sun goes down, but I am so grateful that you and the crib agreed upon a nightly truce early on). Also, while you might not have a lot to say during our political discussions, you have started to make some very adorable coos. You're also smiling on a regular basis. Your dad swears that you went so far as to laugh at a joke of his this morning. However, I know this is not true, since you and I both agree that I am funnier than your dad.
I must admit Cletus, I do admire your tenacity. Whether you're screaming for 20 minutes straight because you're refusing to sleep, or continuing in your efforts to hold your head up, you manage to stay focused. Speaking of holding your head up, we both know that you're doing this because you have discovered your nemesis - the ceiling fan. I don't quite understand your fascination, but you can't take your eyes of it when we're in the living room. It doesn't matter if the fan is turned on or not - there's nothing I can do to distract you. It's like you're staring at it and thinking, "I'll figure you out one day, you rotating bastard."
Also, I can tell from our morning dance parties that you appreciate the Beatles - which is good, because a love of the Beatles is not optional in this house. You and I may disagree as to whether the White Album is superior to Abbey Road, but let's not quibble; we both enjoyed a special moment when Rocky Raccoon started to play, and you smiled.
So, while there are days when you are pabby, I have to admit - you're good company. Now, if I can get you to learn Star Wars references like this kid, you will be the perfect baby.
Love,
Your Mom
