Dear Alexander Babyton —
Honestly, with a big brother around, you’re bound to have more nicknames than the eldest child. This one comes from your brother’s musical stylings: “Alexander Babyton. His name is Alexander Babyton. There’s a million poops he hasn’t done, but just you wait.”

Just you wait.

This month, I went back to work and you worked out your remaining concerns about that Daddy person. You two are finding your stride now and you’re finally okay with taking the bottle.

Which is to say, you reverse cycle the way Grayson did, eating during the day but nursing the second you see me whether you’re hungry or not. I’m okay with this. You seem to eat less, though, and I always worry about my pumping output — it’s nowhere near what Gray ate at your age. And yet, you’re growing and we’ve barely touched the freezer stash. So.

We’re pretty lucky, though. I still work mostly from home and get to see you at lunch most days; my commute only stands in the way on Wednesdays. It’s a function of what I do and where I work, but boy, do I hope you have this level of flexibility in your career when you grow up. It helps.

The “rules” have changed on solid food since Gray was a baby, so you’ve had tiny tastes of banana and carrot and the barest hint of peanut butter. You seem mildly interested and/or confused, depending on the day.

You are the cuddliest baby I’ve ever known, which is both lovely and increasingly problematic. You’ve gotten used to sleeping with/on me at night, much as your brother did, but he never stopped moving and somehow “slept” while punching me in the throat. You, on the other hand, snuggle in gently and snooze quietly, and it’s pretty nice. But you’re starting to wake more frequently to sip-snack in the night, and that’s not something we can sustain without Mommy and Daddy moving to a dangerous level of sleep deprivation. And though I can see some sleep training in our not-so-distant future and I know it will benefit everyone, I can’t help but note that you’re my last baby and I really, really, love our snoozy snuggles.

I love being awake behind the wheel, too, though, and that seems important.

You still don’t have the schedule that I think you would most appreciate as a result of being the second child; you are more flexible than either playschool or my work schedule. But you’re a good-natured little guy and I think, if you knew how to read a clock, you would try to time your naps for maximum Grayson time anyway.

He’s definitely your favorite person. Daddy and I are great and we meet your needs and all, but Grayson is the BEST. You’re not sure about being held by him but you do reach for him and lean into hugs and laugh your face off when you have his full attention.

This is why we had two kids. It’s not guaranteed that you’ll be best friends, although, hey, that’d be cool.

But although sharing toys is hard, sharing parents, in the long run, is a gift. It’s hard now — “Not yet, buddy, I need to feed the baby.” “I’ll be right there, little guy, we’re finishing Grayson’s book!” — but later you’ll have each other to groan to when Daddy and I make dumb jokes and to lean on when dealing with us, in one way or another, is cumbersome. You’ll be able to remind each other of the lyrics to “Road of the Trash Truck” and remember the time that weird thing happened. Grayson will remember Rodney and tell you all about how much you and Rodney tried to play, even though you were too little.

“We’re brothers,” said Grayson recently. “We stick together, the same in the rain or sun.”

(You will also have each other to complain to about Mommy’s love of musicals.”

Love,
Mama