February 3, 2026
Dear Sophia,
I didn’t sleep well last night. You were struggling, apparently with gas, poor thing. You woke up frequently, between struggling with gas and being hungry. Because of your Aunt Erin’s visit last night and her help this morning, I was able to go to a workout outside of my exercise bike for the first time in almost a month, but then we went to the pediatrician, so I didn’t get much done in terms of work today. The good news is that you are now 4 kg, or 8 lbs. 13 oz. I remember when you were in about the 23rd percentile for weight, and now you are the 55th percentile, but that has to be put in context: apparently you are over the 90th percentile for height, or in your case, since you can’t stand up, length.
Your Aunt Erin just adores you. She was just carrying you around and marveling at you. It was wonderful to see. I always enjoy her visits and how well she and your mother get along. It was great for your mother to have someone here.
* * *
February 5, 2026
This morning Leah told me that her mother would not be coming by as planned, because she had a cold. So I was quite surprised to hear voices in the living room that did not quite sound like they were on a phone call. I walked into the living and dining room area to find Leah crying, because, as she pointed out, her mother was in the kitchen making her grilled cheese sandwiches, as she had when Leah was a child.
Froncé handed me two grilled cheese sandwiches and I gave one to your mother.
Your mom hadn’t stopped crying with the joy of feeling supported by her mom.
“I will remember this forever,” she said. “When I am 50, 60 years old —”
“Careful about what you are going to define as old,” I said, to the laughter of my mother-in-law.
“— I will remember this,” your mom finished.
“You’re still my baby,” her mother said, a shrug in her voice. “You may have a baby, but you’re still my baby.”
* * *
February 6, 2026
I’m flat on my back on the bed with my knees up, and you are sitting on my lap facing me with your head up on my thighs. I’m holding you while your mom is taking a shower even though you’re hungry. This means I have to rock you to distract you. The fancy new electric chair I just bought, which has a rather anemic motion, was not doing the trick.
I know what everyone says. This time flies by so fast. I felt a moment of sadness just now as I thought I don’t want to take for granted this person that you are now. Because this version of you will just be here for a fleeting moment amidst the rest of our lives. You will never be this small, this mute, this unable to focus on a face, this easily distracted ever again.
Love,
Dad
