Three Months

Arthur is three months old today.

Three months. A whole season – he was born just as spring blossomed into summer, and now we’re on the threshold of the new beginnings of fall.

I just wrote a post about how quickly the time goes by, but I couldn’t let this day go by without comment.

Fitting that when I walked into the office this morning there was a large box waiting for me. I’m fortunate to work with friends, or to be friends with my coworkers – however you like. Anyway, inside the box was an adorable jungle cross-stitch. You know the kind, with Arthur’s name and birth weight/date in the center and sweet animals surrounding it. It’s a perfect match for his nursery, and more importantly it’s such an expression of love and support. I have a special idea to repay the kindness, but she might read this so I’ll keep that close to the vest for now…

We’re taking Arthur for his three-month portraits on Saturday. I promise that I’ll try not to become one of those moms (though I won’t admit how many pictures I had to clear off my phone to update it today), but for the first year we will catalog these seasonal milestones with the help of a professional. Then it’ll be every year. Or every six months. Don’t pressure me.

(Maybe it’s selfish, but I’m especially excited that after Saturday I get to make photo books!)

Finally, a personal reflection on the last few months…

I am a woman with many faults. Some are simply too trivial to even acknowledge but a fair few are what I consider to be true character flaws. I tend to be unreasonable when I’m angry, whether or not my anger is justified or even properly directed. I try to do it all because I’m afraid of what people will think if I ask for help, then I reach a breaking point and rail against the people who love me the most for not stepping in sooner. (Basically, for not being mind readers.)

But Arthur has changed me already.

When I am tempted to raise my voice or give in to petty anger, I look down at his sweet face and remember that I want to do better for him. I want him to grow up in a household with love at its center from all sides. Anger is natural, but I want to show him that there is a right and a wrong way to be angry. When I am sad and tired and start to wonder why I try to do so much, I hear him laugh and know that I want us to have a fulfilling life – as individuals, and as a family.

I don’t get everything right. I still question and second-guess myself. Some nights I still cry, and some days I still let out angry words before I can stop myself.

But I am becoming a better version of myself, day by day.

It’s been a great three months, and the next three will be even better.


Next week, he’ll be 20.

Arthur will be 12 weeks old tomorrow. How is it that my small precious boy is already smiling, babbling, and trying like hell to sit himself up? How am I already starting to put away his 0-3 clothes (newborn rompers are way out) because his legs are so long that even the longest pants are shorts?

His teeth are also starting to come in. Now a bib is a constant part of his wardrobe, and his new-found fascination with his hands is as chew toys. He isn’t quite into teething rings yet – I think the cold confuses him – but he has an unending desire to chew.

Everything is in transition. Summer to fall, newborn to full-blown infant, preparing for movement and talking and Arthur’s first Christmas.

He's already so suave.

He’s already so suave.


Tomorrow he will be 12 weeks; next week, I swear he’ll be 20 and flying away. As excited as I am for each new development, I catch myself wishing that the seconds would pass by just a little slower, that I can eke out one more hour of every day to just be with my baby before he’s all grown. I count down the minutes at work and race home so I can see his face light up a few minutes sooner.

So tonight I’ll pack up his little clothes to make room for the next size, and pray that he just doesn’t grow up too fast.