of notes and notebooks

 

Would you believe it? Raegan is 7 months old! Now before I panic that we have “done nothing” to remember the passing of these first few months, I have to share my “notebook”. I have a hunter green, crocodile skin notebook that I took on a whim to the hospital with me, and since I have written to Raegan weekly about her life—since I assume she won’t be able to remember much. Phil and I both wrote to her on the occasion of her birth, and then I write in little snippets on each new week. We’re presently at 32 weeks, and so much growth has taken place in our little baby doll. She’s now 17 pounds, 2 oz and 26 inches long, right in the middle for everything percentile-wise. She’s teething, and has been for the last 5 weeks. Still no little nubs yet. This was an epic week, though, since she “witnessed” the Royal Wedding and Osama bin Laden’s demise. I write all these things in for her; it’s my version of a baby book since—for some reason—we didn’t start one or even have one to start when she was small. My inspiration came from one of my favorite and most special things—a notebook my dad kept when my mom was delivering me—complete with contraction times—and the last page turns over and says: “It’s a girl! Abigail Jean!”
So, to provide the same sentimental rememberings for Rae, I write in her book. This week’s entry will be something like: Her latest trick is “sideways head” where she considers something she’s looking at, and quizzically turns her head to the side—just like a dog. She just figured out she can feed herself delicious puffs. When she’s done with a bottle, she done, and there’s nothing you can do to convince her otherwise. Her hair will not lay down flat, it’s just the right length to stick straight up in the back. But, it is a glorious golden brown color, and her eyes are every bit as blue as they were when she was born. She snuggles a bit more now, especially when I dance around with her. She recognizes her daddy from far away, and gets very excited to see him coming. “Momomomom” is her sound of choice when something is distressing her, go figure.
But, regardless, she is the absolute best and is about the most flexible baby I’ve ever been around. Not as in gymnastics, but in demeanor. We need to shuttle her off to friends’ homes for the days I’m at work: boom, she’s fine. We decide to go to a street fair in a busy city, and she’ll only get one nap: boom, she’s fine. Cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents want to see her and hold her and play with her on Easter: boom, she’s fine. She’s a game little darling {in the American sense of the word game} and we love that about her. We’re just about to give her an even bigger test of her game-ness (not to be confused with gaminess) when we head south to Cayman, the Grand in about three weeks to see her godparents.