Three months? Are you kidding me? I'm still unclear on how the final six months of pregnancy dragged on like a tortuous apocalypse, while the first three months of your little life have flown by like the Roadrunner on meth.
One of the saddest things about you being three months old is that I don't think I'm allowed to count your age in weekly increments anymore. Technically, you're 13 weeks old, but if I say that to people they're going to think I'm a weirdo. "This is Baby Fraggle, she's 13 weeks old. My name is Marianna, I'm 1544 weeks old. Pleased to meet you."
Another exciting/sad thing since the last time I wrote is simply how much you've changed. I woke up one morning and I swore to Hubby that you looked different. You changed, literally overnight. He thought I was crazy. "No, it's just her hairstyle" he said. But then, when he arrived home that night... "She looks different" he said. I TOLD YOU.
When you were 11 weeks old, you achieved the most amazing feat. YOU ROLLED OVER. Apparently it's early for this particular accomplishment, but I don't really consider it all that werid - given how much you've wanted to MOVE since your days inside me, as well as how much you dislike being forced to sit on your tummy.
The actual roll-over event was more of a two-minute process of forceful grunts and heave-hos as you tried desperately to get the hell off your stomach. I obviously videotaped the whole thing - complete with my screeches of delight in the background.
Since then, you roll over about half the time. It seems to depend on how much energy you have and how much you're hating your stomach in that particular moment. Every single time you do it, the pride in me swells like a hot air balloon - a really big, bright hot air balloon.
My other favourite thing is your coos. You gurgle and gobble at me all the time and I have an unhealthy number of video recordings of you doing it. I goo and you gah, I ah and you ahrg. The joy this beings me is indescribable and ridiculous - second only to your smiley kicking delight upon waking when I come to rescue you from your crib. These are the best parts of my day, every day.
When I last wrote, you were refusing to nap. I later learned it was less of a "refusal" and more of a "Mom, I'm a textbook and just because you can't figure me out doesn't make that my fault get your act together I'm tired K thanks" situation.
Turns out you're a rockstar napper, if I conduct the "prance around the nursery saying goodnight to things" routine. Actually, you nap so much that I'm bored much of the day. (Sorry other moms.)
So, contrary to my previous advice, I'm going to now suggest that you wake up, at least a little bit, just to hang out with me. Because the bottom line is that you're so freaking cute that all I want to do is hug you, and sing to you, and smell you, and stroke your hair, and kiss your cheeks, and otherwise gobble you up all the livelong day.
Also, I'm cool and fun and you oughta want to hang out with me. Just saying.