In Praise of the Third Child

Jack is four months old today. He doesn't get much airplay here, but that's only because he's so laid back that it's easy to just take him for granted. I really shouldn't do that, though, because really, this kid is just plain awesome.

Oh, you wanted to vacuum, Mom? That's cool. I'll just sit here on the couch and smile till you're done.

He goes hither and yon with nary a word of complaint. 

He rides in his carseat like a champ. 

He grins all the way through the grocery store. 

He patiently endures his older brothers' perpetual obsession with petting his head; I might even say he enjoys it.

He kicks it on the sheepskin while I make dinner, sucking his fingers and flailing about.

And he sleeps. Like a dream. Like a miracle. Like one of those babies I was sure were mythical, because it's just not possible for a four-month-old baby to go to bed at 8 p.m. and wake up at 7 a.m. (or later). But Jack does. Okay, sometimes he wakes up at 3 a.m. or 5 a.m. to nurse, but often he doesn't.

I can't tell you how life-changing it is to have an infant who actually sleeps. It's almost like not having a newborn at all.

I guess he's not really a newborn anymore, anyway.

But still awesome. Always.