three months

Almost overnight, Luca has come into his own. It could be the resolution of some feeding issues. Or it might be our implementation of a better sleep schedule (inspired by a book Julia read, which apparently claims that babies who don’t go to sleep before 8PM are more prone lower SAT scores, emotional instability and a fondness for the work of John Stamos). Or maybe it’s just that we passed the three-month hurdle. Regardless, Luca is suddenly a fairly content, very vocal and agile little guy.

At Luca’s doctor’s appointment yesterday (WARNING: GLOATING PARENT AHEAD) Julia was told that he looks and acts like a 5-6 month old. This was not too shocking, since his coordination and focus are pretty incredible – he can already turn from his stomach to his back and will pay attention to consecutive book-readings. What was surprising, though, is that he ranks in the 90th percentile (!) for height. Yes, my son might actually be tall. How can I not become an overbearing my-son-will-make-it-to-the-NBA-or-I’ll-die-trying-to-get-him-there dad at this point?

Being a parent pretty much shatters all standards and preconceived notions of what is and isn’t normal. It’s a welcome clean slate. I mean, when you’re dumbfounded by the intelligence of someone whose main goal in life is to put things (especially his fist) in his mouth, you’re basically looking at a whole new system of logic and meaning.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have some shopping to do. Soon I will utter the phrase “I’d like to put that on my Babies R’ Us card” without any irony or sarcasm. O.K., maybe just a little.