Hanner Nanner,

are you looking for your 4 month newsletter? yeah, it’s not there. why? because mama is tired. so very, very tired. okay, not that tired, but let’s just say that i had better things to do. like smooshing your cheeks, reading you a story, keeping you fed, clean, and overall happy. i’m certainly not going to win Mother Of The Year anyway so i’m not going to pretend like i am one.

i think the most important news to be announced is that YOU CAN HEAR! why don’t we just take a moment to soak that nugget of information in, shall we? aaaaaaaaaaaaaah. your tubes did exactly what they were intended to do and that was to drain the fluid in your tiny little ears. the morning of your post-operative exam and audiologist appointment i think i swallowed a pint of vomit. my stomach was in complete knots. and though everyone on the planet was so incredibly certain that you would pass the hearing test i, being your mother, still had my concerns. we mothers are anxious like that. i think it gets pumped into the IV during birth. the audiologist sat us in the chair and placed the nodes in your ears and watched the computer graph read a symphony of peaks and valleys. i just stared at the back of your head and tried to not eat your peach-fuzz hair. she then said a sentence that i had been longing to hear since you were born: “she passed”. i bawled. as my big, fat tears were raining down your forehead you looked up and smiled. increase bawling. i apologized to the audiologist for snotting up the place. she nodded in approval and handed me a tissue. i immediately called your father and he said “see, i told you”. i’ve never wanted to punch someone so much before in my life. i danced all the way to the car and on the car ride home we listened to Modest Mouse.

you now have two teeth on your bottom row. the first is Fred. he’s a conservative republican that loves guns, pabst blue ribbon and hound dogs named Bocephus. he also likes to keep you up at all hours of the night, prodding your gums with his sharp head. there were two nights in particular that i would have given my right arm to get you to settle down. you were up every hour grunting and whining. i’ll address your whining in a moment, for now just know that when you are teething you’re not fun to be around. the second tooth is Betty Fine Collins. she is as much of an asshole as her namesake. just ask your father who slept in the recliner with you for three hours just so you would sleep. the amount of drool that comes from your mouth during teething is enough to keep the neighborhood in good lawn conditions. drought problem? here, have some drool.

so, back to the whining. it isn’t so much a whine as it is a fingernail on a chalkboard. eeeeehhhhhuuuuhhh. a guttural sound that makes my skin prickle and my eyeballs shoot from my head and dangle from the sockets. out of all the sounds you make, this is my least favorite. or couldn’t you tell? thankfully, the only time you are ever whiney is when you are tired or bored. i tend to spend my time with you avoiding those two instances. i’m forever trying to find new ways to make you laugh. oh, that sweet high pitched laughed. you laugh with your throat much like i do. kind of a cackle with a chortle aftertaste. if your laughter were a dessert it would be carrot cake.

this month we started you on solids. first rice cereal mixed with formula and then oatmeal with formula and finally sweet potatoes. oatmeal is by far your favorite. when i fed you sweet potatoes you shuddered with your whole body and emitted a sound akin to an emu who was dying from knife wound. a knife wound received from a gangfight in a Filipino baryo. solids has been an interesting ride. i’m still not sure what i’m doing half the time. it is pretty fun to watch you realize what your tongue can do. roll food around your mouth, blow raspberries, make “la la la aaaa goo” noises. i could listen to you all day long. as long as it isn’t that whining noise.

next month you will be half a year old and i will probably die of shock. but not before i eat your chubby legs. and maybe a yummy foot.

i love you puddin’ pants,
mama