You are four months old! You have gone from being a sweet, angelic little newborn to a loudmouthed, drooly, roly-poly baby who loves to snuggle and shove things in your pie-hole. Not that you aren't still sweet and angelic. You've just added to your skill base. At the doctor's office yesterday, you weighed 16 lbs and are almost 27" long. That's the 95 percentile for length. I think I'll start calling you "Stretch." Or "Chevy Chase." I haven't decided.
Among your favorite things to do at the moment are: the aforementioned shoving of things into your pie-hole, snuggling, sleeping in the crook of my arm, jumping in your 'jumperoo' (oh my GOD how you love the jumping), listening to conversation and music, and being worn:
You are, of course, still fairly enthusiastic about boobs. And the cat might be warming up to you. Or she's contemplating homicide. I suppose we'll never know.
You delight us every day with the new sounds, faces, and movements that you make. (And by movements, I am of course not at all referring to the horrible diarrhea you had last week, the diarrhea that necessitated a trip to the hospital lab with a stool sample. You're fine now- it was apparently just a virus. But CRAP. You were pissy.)
Anyway, in all seriousness, you are pretty much my favorite person ever.
I love you,