What amazes me about you

In a word: Everything.
But let me try to be more specific.


Your hands.

They were one of the first things I noticed about you after you were born. I did the typical first time parent thing and immediately counted to make sure there were ten little fingers and ten little toes in the appropriate places - and I was struck - Wow! Look at those hands! They were so big for such a small little thing. More like paws than hands. That's what I started calling them: your man paws. It's one of the reasons you are Momma's Mr. Man.
Every great man I have known has had good hands. Large and strong. I don't know how that has worked out, but it has. Maybe their hands were good because they were great men; because they were men of character who worked hard every day. Or maybe their hands had been tools that allowed them to become the great men they were. I'm not sure. But either way, my son, you have the hands of a great man. I hope they will serve you well. I hope one day you will use them to build, create, and to protect. But until then, I look forward to watching you learn to use them to play and to write.
And, of course, to hold Mommy's hand.

Your hair.

You had so much of it when you were born! Everywhere! Your arms and  back were covered in dark fuzz. And you had sideburns! No, not just sideburns: chops. Full on, 1970's chops. They were impressive. (A few hours after you were born I announced to the room that I thought you looked like Wolverine from the X-Men. You have these angular eyebrows, you had the chops and all the hair, and your head was slightly coned in the back in a way that lent itself to the whole angular thing that Wolverine has going on. We all laughed and momma felt proud of her Little Man.) Not a single person who has met you has neglected to mention your awesome hair. Of course, the body hair has long since rubbed off. And now the hair on your head is beginning to fall out in patches, which is sort of bittersweet. I loved your hair so much. I would smooth it behind your ears as you nursed or slept in my lap. But a bald baby is a pretty great thing, too.

Your smile.

You don't use it often - you're too busy being curious about the world - and I'm not entirely sure you've even used it deliberately yet, but man... when you do, it changes everything. All is right. The worlds shifts. Stars align. Hearts melt. All of that.
It's that good.

Your nursing skills.
You were a champ from the start. It took you less than 45 minutes from the moment you were born to latch. You just did it on your own, like you knew it was what you were supposed to do, and you never really stopped.
And to that end:

How fast you are growing.

From this ....                                                                                               ...  to this!! In 7 weeks!

Seriously. You are unstoppable. You weighed 7lbs.8oz. when you were born. Exactly one week later, you weighed 8lbs.9oz! Another week later you were already 9lbs.3oz. Two weeks more: 11lbs.3oz! Your original 21 inches stretched to 22 3/4 in that same five weeks, so you stayed pretty skinny despite the weight gain. But I think you're slowing down on the vertical growth, because boy! have you begun to pack on the rolls! Up until now, you've been Mr. Man or Little Man to me, which I liked because it was so specific to you - no other baby has ever been Mr. Man in my life. But it is becoming increasingly difficult to avoid the Chunky Monkey nickname - one I've used for multiple chunky sweet babies in my life - because that's what you have become: a chunker. Other suggested nicknames to accommodate for this change are: Michelin Man, Bubba Jr (your Dad is Bubba to his sister) and Tank.
Anyway! I digress.
Your growing big and strong and healthy, and I'm so proud of you.
Today, at seven weeks and four days old, you weigh FOURTEEN POUNDS!

Your independence.
Already, you deal with so much on your own. When your tummy bothers you, your instant reaction is not to cry and call for me. In fact, it takes you a long time to ever get to the point of crying. You lay there on your own and grunt and wriggle a bit. It can hardly even be called fussing. Half the time I don't realize your tummy had been upset until after you've thrown up. Tough little kid. Mommy hates to throw up and cries every single time. Already, you're showing me up.
You can put yourself to sleep, too. No binky needed. No mommy to cuddle. Of course, we don't do this every time because that would break Mommy's heart. Mommy needs to cuddle. But you don't. Not every time, at least.
And that, my son, brings me to one of the other things that amazes me about you:

Your soul.

It's old and wise already. I can see it in your eyes. In the inquisitive way you work your eyebrows and tilt your head. In the way you handle life already. It almost surprises me when you do cry and remind me that you are, in fact, less than two months old.

You, my amazing son, are going to take this world by storm.