4 months

You weigh 15 pounds. You are 25 inches long. You are my son. You are...well, it's hard to find a word to describe how cool you are.



We read together every day.



Your favorite book is Please Do Not Open This Book. It's a pop up book staring lovable, furry ol' Grover from Sesame Street. He keeps warning you and I not to turn the pages because there's a monster at the end of the book. Each time we get to the final page and it is revealed that Grover himself is the monster at the end of the book, you giggle with delight.



You dig art! You stare at my paintings like you're trying to figure them out. You adore the big Art Up Close book. We start at ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics and go all the way through to Jackson Pollock's splatter paintings. You try to turn the pages yourself. And you talk the whole time. With each new artwork, so many GOOOOOO GAAAAAAAH AHUUUUUU sounds bubble out of you.



Dr. Arboleda says it's fine to give you some mushy rice cereal. Solid foods. I do believe it's time. Whenever I'm eating my breakfast oatmeal, you watch intently with this bewildered look on your face as if to say, "WHAT are you DOING and WHEN can I do it?"



You don't like wearing socks or shoes. You remove the pacifier from your mouth when you meet new people, as if to say, "I don't need this thing. I can quit anytime." When someone holds you, you like to show off by standing up in their lap and talking to them. When you were a newborn, my job was to care for you and do everything in my power to make you thrive. Now, I still do that, but I'm getting to know you, too. You're a great person. I can already tell. You are so very 'Cooper.'