I haven't written you a letter in a while. A lot has happened since then, and I feel like I need to tell you why the smell of your hair makes me think a piece of heaven is stuck somewhere in there. A wispy bit of heaven caught in your spiky, straw-like hair. I thought you were going to have my hair, son. It was baby fine and darker when you were tiny. But no, you have your dad's hair, through and through. It is honey blonde, thick and unruly. It cannot be combed, and it lives in a semi-mohawk all the time. I think other moms look at me and wonder why I would style it like that. I don't. I just sniff it.
You have had your first real haircut, and you were pretty great. I think that you were more mesmerized by your hair stylist, a tattooed and pierced young woman with dark hair and a nice smile. She cut it the best she could, but you still ended up with something that would have fit the Hitler youth perfectly. I know, I'm terrible, but honestly, you were pretty sculpted. A baby high 'n tight. Whew. But, again like your dad, you grew it back out into something more normal in a week and half. Now you look pretty adorable, which means in a week and a half, it will be shaggy again. Such is the life of a wife/mother of two blonde Chebaccas.
You have also had the appetite of a baby Chewbacca, but only if a portion of your meal contains a serving of chocolate. You love Nutella, or Annie's Chocolate Bunnies, or just chocolate chips. You don't discriminate. Chocolate is chocolate. Just as long as we dont give it to you unless you have consumed something healthy, like pears and peas and spinach. Or a turkey pastrami sandwich. Some days you like bananas, some days you give us the stink eye for even offering them to you. But you will eat anything with chocolate. I am doomed to the life of having a tub of Nutella in the cupboard, and not being able to have any myself. #mamaneedstoloseweight
All in all, though, you have become a pretty fun little guy to be with. You slouch on the sofa with me. You like to be woken up with a hug. You love your dad, and he loves you. You hug every dog that comes your way. You are, in a nutshell, our perfect child. We love you, tiny man.