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A Letter to Gabriel

Gabriel, you have two teeth now. Both are you front bottom. You stand and are perfectly capable of standing without assistance but you rarely do. You love to play, mimic, laugh, yell, share, eat, and kiss. And you absolutely adore being kissed. You do this thing when I am laying down where you crawl up to me, kiss me, then start roll over onto my face so that I kiss you all over you body, ending on the back of your neck which seems your favorite spot.

You fuss a little when mom goes to work. I work at home and when I leave you don’t care, you know I’ll be back soon. And you can tell when mom is going to work or when she is just leaving fro a few minutes. You only fuss after she has clearly gotten ready for work. But you don’t throw a fit, you make two or three noises of objection, you crawl over to me sobbing, I pick you up and hold you for a bit and then you’re good as new. Though you are never in as good a mood when mommy is gone.

You love playing with Lilly, though she is not crazy about you. And that’s understandable. All you do is hit her and pull on her hair. We’re working on it. But it’s tough, all you do to us more than half the time is hit us and pull on our hair.

You crawl quickly, it gets a little faster every day.

You still sleep with us, and if you wake up and don’t feel us right next to you, you will cry until we are right there comforting you, or until we pick you up. We’re going to keep the co-sleeping up until you let us know you’re ready for your own bed. As much as I look forward to that, I do love raising you as while you are a baby this way.

You give a nice high five and I can always make you laugh. You are my best friend, tied with mom, and I would do anything for you. I would say I hope you’re happy, but I can tell. Our communication is really pretty good. And for now as well as for your entire life, your happiness is my goal. That’s all I want for you. And I think we are off to a good start.

The following picture was taken at the farmer’s market by Kristina’s mom.

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