Dear Otis,

You’re 5 months old today. Last night we had our first case of the sick baby, and I am not a fan.  Please don’t get sick again until you’re married. Then it’s her problem.

Who am I kidding?

I’ll probably still come over.

I’m just joking, people!

You are still laughing. Like, all the time. Except in the morning. You are not a morning person, and the psychology undergrad in me is SO CURIOUS whether this is a personality trait that will follow you through life or not.

When I write these monthly letters to you I always picture a moody emo Otis reading them. And you being all “Marie, I don’t smile. You know that. Gah.” And me being like, “Mark, tell your son to quit calling me by my first name!”

The teen years terrify me. Please be nice.

In case you do turn into a moody teenager who doesn’t believe you ever smiled, I would like to present you with this photographic evidence:


Booyah. Do you know what is causing all that cheese? Your Lola/Crazy Lady shaking toy keys for you. Yes, that’s all it took and you laughed like you were watching Katt Williams do stand up.

Before I forget, you also rolled over this month. It took you a while because of your… build. But when you rolled and lifted your head up I was pretty sure you were going to start crawling immediately.

And I know I should be happy, but all I could think is that one day I’m going to see the back of that 95th percentile head that you can barely hold up one day (hopefully with a tad more hair) and it will be because you’re leaving for kindergarten or moving into your dorm or walking down the aisle. And, honestly, that breaks my heart. I know it shouldn’t. But it will.

We’ve been doing this adventure for the past 5 months little dude, and I don’t know that I could love a real life person any more than I do you.

Love you,

PS Call me Marie again and you’re grounded. Got it?


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