I can hardly believe my little one is three months old. She is such a different creature than the one we brought home from the hospital. Now she seems almost more human than alien, a fact we would not have believed 12 weeks ago. But it is true. She moves with purpose, lifts her head high, props herself up on her arms and smiles. Sometimes she also laughs, a sound that is only about two steps away from her cry, but just makes me dissolve every time I hear it. She can also grasp a rattle when it is placed in her hand.
It is funny to think I ever thought I would be bored at home with her. Every new milestone is infinitely interesting to me. She is such a constant source of fun. At the end of the day I am tired in a way I never knew before. This is exhausting. And even though Samara sleeps 12 hours a night (please do not throw tomatoes), I can still barely form a sentence. I forget words. I try to write and cannot even read what I have put on the page. But I have never been happier or more fulfilled in my life.
Hard as it is, I find myself wishing I could stop time. I want her to grow and be healthy, of course. But I am also so sad at the thought of her little fingers growing long and thick. Or teeth cutting through her gummy grin. I don't want to say goodbye to this little person. It is hard to believe that her spastic legs will stop their thrashing and learn to walk. Even harder to believe that she will someday be as tall--and probably taller--than me. Yes, she will join the earthlings and will cease to be mystified by my amazing ability to hold my pointer finger apart from my other fingers. But right now it blows her mind. She's a cheap date.
Just a scant 16 years from now, she will tell me she hates me and possibly my cooking. She will try to borrow the car and knock the mirror off pulling it back into the garage--as if I wouldn't notice. At that time, I may want her home planet to contact me and beam her back. But for now, she thinks I am the bee's knees. She smiles when she sees me in the morning, looks on with wonder when I put strange, colorful morsels into my mouth and finds it hysterical when I then chew them. What can I say? She tugs at my narcissistic heart strings. Here are some highlights from her brief, but well documented, stay on this planet:
Her first night home from the hospital was not her finest display of neck strength. As you can see, tummy time was a total bust. We almost returned her as defective. See for yourself:
In just three short months, she has really turned it all around. What once was lost, she now has found. Behold neck strength in abundance, my friends:
Here she is on Feb. 25 looking a lot like E.T. Duh. Man were we clueless. She is reaching for something. All she wanted was to phone home! No wonder her favorite rattle is a red phone. Back then, we just thought it was cute.
Soon we learned that on her planet, they make phone calls internally:
Once we explained cellular technology to the little one, she was very pleased:
So we say happy three months to the little alien that has brought more poops and farts and drool and joy into our lives than we possibly could have imagined. She rocks our universe.