Dear Remy, 

I’ll be 36 weeks on Sunday, and you were born at 37. We’ll see if Baby Brother will be eager to follow in your footsteps. 

Daddy bought a grandfather clock this week, and it has gone in the place of the cuckoo clock that you love dearly. When I carry you downstairs you point to the clock, saying “Ka-koo? Ka-koo?” And I have to explain that no, that’s not Cuckoo, that’s Grandfather Clock, and it doesn’t go cuckoo,  it goes ding-dong-ding-dong! You are pleased with that and chuckle when I explain it. 

Every day at about 10 a.m. you have some independent play time in your crib. You love it so long as there is music. As soon as the music stops, you stand up and yell. This is one of the reasons I am sure you are my son. 

Two days ago, while we were playing on the floor in your room, I moved wrong and pulled something in my hip. It hurt, and I swiftly moved to all fours, grimacing. You stopped what you were doing to come and get on all fours next to me, craning your neck to peer into my face with a troubled look on your own. That moment of concern on your part made all the hurt go away. 

I wish you could understand how proud of you I am. I know one day you’ll be able to read this, and understand it, but I wish I could tell you now. 

I’m not really worried about Clive following in your footsteps. If he does, he will be doing pretty well, I think.






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