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Mr. Jack.

Sparks family photos
Four months old.

Sparks family photos

Dear Jack,

And just like that, you are four-months old. You love baths and walks outside. You sleep eleven hours a night. You don’t skip a meal. And, when I work really, really hard, you chuckle the sweetest old-man, raspy chuckle.

You are all chins and thighs and rolls, and I love it. You have softer skin than any baby I know, and you always smell like milk and soap. Maybe the most entertaining thing about you is your eyebrows and how much control you have over them. Such a skeptical child you are, Jack.

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Two months old.

Just like I thought from your Spider Man-kicks in my belly, you are one strong little man. You’ve been flipping over from front to back. Just never in front of me — only when I put you down for your nap (and you’ll only sleep on your stomach, of course). Then, after I walk away, you’ll flip yourself over, almost without fail, to check out your mobile. Then you’ll get bored and cryyyy. It’s a vicious cycle.

You can reach for your bottle and grab toys that hang above you. You are the best hand-holder, always curling your fists around my fingers and squeezing. And you love mirrors. But it’s easy to see why.

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You look just like your dad. A blue-eyed Jesse 2.0. But every now and then, I catch a glimpse of your Papa in your long face, or a glimmer of me as a baby in your full-cheeked smile.

Two weeks old.

You love watching your big brother, but it’s clear from your more-than-occasional scowls that you think he’s nuts. Hilarious, but nuts. The two of you fill my every day with early wake-ups, extra laundry, and a whole bunch of noise, but being the mom of two little boys is very much the best thing in the whole world.

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Three months old.

Our personalities are so alike, Jack. I can already tell. That furrowed brow, that temper, that love for sleep (on your terms, anyway), and how, sometimes, only your mama will do. The best part of all is that you love to cuddle. You curl yourself up into whoever’s holding you and just nuzzle. It’s the best.

Jack, you’ve taught me quite a measure about patience. You’ve taught me to accept each day and what it brings, knowing that my role is to be what you need. You laugh in the face of my plans and schedules. Actually, you can go ahead and cut that out — it’s just plain mean. I get it, I get it.

Right now, you are belly-down in your crib, letting out little puffy snores. I walked in to check on you and you opened your eyes, smiled, sighed, and then re-closed them. You give me the heart flutters.

I love you, Apple Jack.

Mom

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