Newsweek

Today is a gray and rainy Saturday. Today is the kind of day in which I leave you in your pajamas, the ones with some kind of animal face sewn onto the feet, because I would like to remain in mine. Today we are in Minneapolis because Daddy and I are going out on a date night tonight and because Grandma Ricki and Grandpa Peter want to gulp you up in large doses before they leave for China on Tuesday.

You are sleeping longer at night now. Seven days in a row now of seven hours of sleep in a row. Only one bleary-eyed middle-of-the night feeding. You nap two or three times a day. Usually 45 minutes a pop, but sometimes an hour, sometimes an hour and a half, usually longer if it's Daddy or Grandma taking care of you and shorter for me.

You like to practice standing now and the best place to practice standing is at the magazine rack. It's a sturdy wooden contraption, about a foot tall, with a dowel across the top for lifting. You hang on to this dowel and pull magazines from the enclosure and crow at your accomplishments. I have to sit directly behind you, hands positioned just inches from your hips, but you can feel the moments where you are independent and in control of your own body--and you are so proud.

Last night, after work, we went to the Cow. We ate nachos and drank and listened to live music. We stood close to the musicians so you could watch the soft mallets against the silver xylophone, the brushes against the drum heads, the mouth of the sax moving into and then out of the light. You sang along. Then, at the table, you grabbed the lip of my cup and spilled beer all over my lap.

When we arrived at Grandpa and Grandma's today, you said something that sounded like "hi" except it came out more like "ay" and so Grandpa Peter started calling you the little pirate.

As you digest bits of the Atlantic Monthly and gurgle yourself to sleep, we grow more and more anxious to know what you're thinking. Anxious and a little terrified, the way I always am when I know I will get the truth, pure and unadulterated.