Monday, November 9, 2009


Dear Simon,

It seems just yesterday that I was hoping for you. Then I started the wait of expecting you, moments ago. Mere seconds ago it seems you were born. Yet the calendar has turned seven times since you entered this world. Wild haired little boy brand new.

Oh, how you've grown. Ounces from 16 pounds at your last doctor's visit, I remain amazed that I change your clothes on the schedules tagged inside. Your sister was always behind.

Your smiles come easy and your babbles happy, sharing in the conversation around you. Content in the company of others, movement seems not a priority. I think I've witnessed you roll from your back three times. You can do it; you begin to pursue a toy, consider it, and relax to watch the people above you. It makes me laugh.

You shout at the TV. Can't figure out what to do with your tongue. And make the funniest faces. Abigail makes you smile like no other even when her actions appear more like torture to the onlookers. How she loves you. I hope you will always enjoy one another.

So seven months later, I cut your hair. I sit you with a toy and you play. I give you a ball and you think about going after it and reconsider, chattering baby language instead. You leap for joy at our presence in the exersaucer.

The moments have passed faster than I could have imagined. And I find those moments I worried that I could not love two children as I loved one were moments wasted. For your arrival has expanded my heart more than I knew. And little man, I love you.


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