Saturday, September 3, 2011

month four

Miss Mila-May,

You are four months old, and the happiest baby I've ever know. I think I gave birth to the next Dalai Lama. Seriously. You smile when you are happy, tired, angry and hungry. You can't not smile. Even when you cry because we've left you alone too long, or we are in the car (which you still hate) there is an apologetic undertone to your whimper, as if you are saying, "I really hate to inconvenience you because I know all you do for me, but I'd prefer to be held right now...I mean, when you have a moment, could you please pick me up?!" Your sister is 100% east coast. Sonia will make a perfect New Yorker - all busy and tough. But you, my sweet, sweet, Mila - you are a west coast girl all the way. You'll be surfing the Pacific all hang-loose and whatnot, enjoying life with the wind blowing through your hair. I can see it perfectly.

You are teething, teething, teething. We can see the bottom two teeth making their way up, but it feels like it's taking forever. Poor, smiling, drooly, rolling Mila-May.

We love, love, love you,

Mama

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