Dear Asher,

Everyday you learn something new. In the past month you’ve begun to reach out with your hands to grab things… mostly your mother’s hair, my sunglasses, and yes, even my eyebrows (ouch). You’ve also discovered that your hands are a perfect substitution for your binky. You are constantly shoving your tiny fist into your mouth and sucking away with all your might, which makes the loudest slurping noise imaginable. The first time we heard you sucking noisily on your hand, your mother and I looked out the window expecting to see a wild moose eating watermelon. We couldn’t believe such a big sound was coming from such a tiny baby! How can those little lungs of yours create enough suction to make that much noise? Also, I have come to the realization that Baby + Hand + Mouth = 10,000 gallons of DROOL. So, since you’re now a bona fide drool machine, you get to wear a bib at all times. I wish baby drool had some market value so we could put the stuff in 16oz bottles and sell them as a refreshing beverage… then we might actually be able to pay for your college!

Today, on your 3 month birthday, you got to celebrate your first Halloween! We dressed you up in a bumblebee costume and took a bazillion pictures. Your cuteness knows no boundaries. It continues to amaze me every day. I didn’t think it was possible for you to be any cuter and you proved me, oh, so wrong when we zipped you up in that black and yellow striped getup. The real test of cuteness, however, is what other people think (specifically the ones that are NOT of blood relation to you). I’m happy to say that you passed that test with flying colors! The company I work for held a kids Halloween costume photo contest. Your picture took first prize out of the 25+ entries and I got a $15 gift card to Wal-Mart. (which I’ll be using to buy diapers for you!). Now if I can only figure out a way to exploit your cuteness for free Starbucks…

The winning photo!

You’ve finally begun to acknowledge Zoe’s existence, which is a huge relief for her because we all know that the earth revolves around Zoe, not the sun as some brainless scientists believe, but ZOE. The past 3 months have been absolute hell for poor Queen Zoe. She’s tried so hard to get a reaction out of you, and last week, for the first time, you smacked her in the face when she tried to lick you. I don’t think she has any clue about the torment she will one day receive from you… payback’s a bitch… literally…

I’ve been noticing some curious things about the clothes you wear. First of all, why do they make shoes for babies? When you really think about it, it’s just silly. I also don’t get why they put little traction pads on the bottom of onesie feet. Are there really little babies that can stand or walk at 0-3 months? If there are, that’s just creepy. Secondly, what’s with all the damn snaps? Snapping up a wriggling baby after a diaper change should be an Olympic sport. And “C”, why must all baby clothing with hoods be made into some sort of animal head, complete with ears and sometimes eyes and a nose? Granted, there is some initial cuteness associated with this, but the novelty wears out FAST. I have this strange vision of all the baby clothing designers sitting around in a big room laughing about what schmucks parents are for buying their asinine clothes.

Do babies really need robes? No.

My favorite thing about the past month is that you are getting closer and closer to laughing. You’ve got the smiling thing down pat, and you’ve even started making some chuckling sounds, but you haven’t yet put it all together into an honest-to-god real laugh. Before you came along, I always thought parents talking in baby-speak to their kids were idiots… Well, crown me king idiot because I am now a baby-talking fool. I will do ANYTHING to elicit a smile from you. The most effective method entails me jiggling your lips with my index finger while making a “bletha-bletha-bletha-bletha” sound – it’s got about an 85% success rate. I can’t even imagine what kind of stupid and silly things you will get me to do just to make you laugh… I just hope I don’t lose all self-respect.

You are definitely your father’s son. No doubt about it. Several things over the past month have made this abundantly clear. You already love your steaks cooked rare. You agree that Sidney Crosby is the second coming of Mario Lemieux, and, as we’ve recently discovered, you LOVE watching TV. Whenever we turn the TV on, your eyes are instantly transfixed on it (much to your mother’s chagrin). You will spend your entire playtime lying on your play-mat with your neck craned toward the TV like a daisy’s stem to sunlight. This also means that you love watching hockey on the tube with your old man. Awesome.

If Mike Tyson were sleep, you would beat the ever-loving crap out of him. You are a prize-fighter when you step into that ring to battle sleep each night. No matter how tired you are come 8pm, you resist sleep with every ounce of your being. Red eyes… yawns… heavy eyelids… these things are no match for your sleep fighting skillz. Fortunately for us, you always lose by TKO around the 297th round. It’s usually the only time of the day when you are even the least bit fussy, so we don’t mind so much. You’re a great baby!

TKO’d

Love,
Papa