Dear Matteo, 10 Months Old

You got your first passport stamp in Iceland. So cool!

I had a work conference in Stockholm and we made a family trip out of it, also visiting Ghent and Amsterdam over two weeks. Although your Mom and I are adventurous, we were still nervous about the 12 hours of plane time each way with you and Eliza. It’s tough sitting on a plane that long for us big kids, too. Everyone gets a little sweaty and disheveled on international flights and we gave you a few helmet breaks to keep your head cool. You fought sleep a couple times but otherwise did great!  

You had a hard time adjusting to the new time zone -- nine hours ahead -- and liked to wake up in the middle of the night. To attempt to get you back to sleep, your Mom would strap you in a baby carrier and walk all over the hotel, stopping to make friends with the night-shift staff and making her way to the 7-Eleven around the corner to chit-chat with the cashier and buy croissants for the morning. She made these laps for three consecutive nights before you got on schedule.

You’ve developed the strange need to hold onto your Mom’s hair to fall asleep, which makes her presence mandatory. Likewise, your sister has been demanding with back rubs to fall asleep, which can also only be administered by your Mom. She’s in high demand. You've got to let me contribute to the nighttime routine or you'll make me look bad, OK? You have been getting into books quite a bit more, so I’ve been able to help wind you down that way. Your favorite on the trip was “McDuff Comes Home,” a book about a Westie dog running off from home to chase a rabbit. You love giggling at the sight of the little white dog on each page. 

Here's a biggie: You started crawling in Stockholm! You crawled all over our room at Hotel Rival. Your crawl style is a little more like a scoot because you tuck one leg in and use the other to push off like using a skateboard. You army-crawl fine so we know both legs are working, but you choose to do this one-leg crawl/scoot to keep yourself upright. Of course, you improved on this method with each day, and by the time we were in Amsterdam we couldn’t take our eyes off you as you darted toward any dangling cord, plant, or power outlet.

Aside from those daring attempts at hurting yourself, we found the trip was manageable because northern European countries are so family-friendly. That may be why they’re constantly rated as the happiest places to live. I was shocked by how many young families we saw out and about. It wasn’t just the great weather. It’s because these countries, Sweden in particular, have amazing, federally-mandated parental leaves. In Sweden, parents are entitled to about 16 months of leave, which can be split between both parents, and they get paid 80 percent of their income for 13 months. That’d be like me not working for the last 10 months and still having a few to go. Compare that to the two weeks I had off for parental leave. Major difference.  

A highlight of the trip, among many, was how you started to really want to cuddle with me. You like to bury your head (or helmet) in my neck for a few seconds in a loving way. You haven’t been the cuddliest guy, which is OK, but it’s been a nice welcome as there is nothing better than a baby snuggle. I wonder if it’s because I only see you in windows of time during the normal weekdays. Alternatively, we had so much continuous time on the trip perhaps you became more comfortable. Maybe if we were living in Sweden that would have happened a lot earlier.

I am sorry we didn’t get to spend all the early time of your life together like those Northern European families, but we don’t have it half-bad either. We have better Asian food in Tacoma.

Wait, no, we ate great Thai foot at one restaurant. Well, shit.

Here’s to more passport stamps.

Love, Dad

Dear Eliza, 30 Months Old

Our home is a little more chaotic than usual. There's a partially-finished new bathroom upstairs with plywood and tarp keeping the April showers from seeping in. Boxes of alleged child and dog-proof Pergo flooring are stacked up in the kitchen. We're a little squeezed in a mad dash of home improvements. At least the Ikea cordless blinds look nice in the windows. 

You somehow benefit from the mess like an arms dealer during war. The idea that you and Matteo could share a room was short-lived. Now you get to share our bedroom so Matteo can have his own to fuss and teeth in. We tried Matteo in our bedroom first, but if he knows your Mom is in the room he needs to be within reach of the milk supply. You won the sibling battle for parent proximity. 

But I tell you: Once the construction is done upstairs, your butt is moving upstairs. 

Since this move into our bedroom, you've gotten on our sleep schedule. That is to say, you don't want to fall asleep until 9 or 10 p.m. That ain't working, sister. Add that to the fact that you suddenly deny midday naps. Who does that? You should be taking midday naps from now through college. On that note, you are acting a lot like a college student these days. You are a night owl and occassionally pee your pants. 

We try to put you down for bed -- like responsible, desperate parents do -- around 7:30, but unconfined by the prison bars of a crib you jump out and jump all over our bedroom while we are trying to Netflix-binge the day away in the living room. Occasionally you jump out of the bedroom and proclaim "I'm awake!" Thanks, Captain Obvious.  

Pause Netflix. Spend 15 minutes getting you to settle down again. Bribe. Walk back into living room. Fill up wine glass. Unpause Netflix. Let 20 minutes pass. Repeat. 

On the flip side, in the morning I get to see your messy bedhead and mumbled request for chocolate milk. It almost makes it worth it. Not quite, but close.

Love always, Dad. 

Dear Matteo, 9 Months Old

Son, you're in a corrective helmet for the foreseeable future. 

We decked it out with knock-off Star Wars decals so you look like a stormtrooper! We could have gone with a protagonist Rebellion look, but that decal package just wasn't authentic enough for me.

The helmet is coming in handy as you're rolling all over the house. You haven't gotten the hang of crawling or scooting yet, so we're relieved to see you in a helmet while you treat your head like a bowling ball. 

This won't be the last time you're in some kind of corrective gear. Maybe you'll get braces. You might break a bone and need a cast. An amazing, often overlooked aspect of life is that we can heal and transform. When you get a cut you bleed a little, and then that cut closes itself up and goes away in a couple days. That's like a very weak, Wolverine-like healing super power! The helmet is going to guide your head as it grows to become more round where you now have a flat spot in the back. Again, really cool! I don't believe there's a known superhero for slow plagiocephaly treatment, but there should be. Are you reading this, Marvel?

How did you get the flat spot in the first place? Well, our theory is that you were such a big baby that your soft, infant skull couldn't hang with the weight of everything else in your head and, well, gave in. But no biggie. Your head will be good as round in no time, or six months.

The flat spot isn't all that bad, but we figure it's worth a little health insurance money and discomfort now to ensure we minimize any concern you would have when you really start to care about how you look or how other people look at you. Here's the good news: you are wicked handsome and that trend won't change. It's almost unfair that we're evening out that little flat spot because it eliminates all the competition.

Another unexpected challenge we've been dealing with is your food allergies. You're ravenous and interested in trying new foods, but we've found that you get skin reactions -- often on your face and hands -- to strawberries and some dairy products. No strawberry milkshakes for you, kiddo. The good news is that you're not allergic to peanut butter and I'd MUCH rather be allergic to strawberries (rarely in season or often overripe) than peanut butter (which has many more applications for domestic and international cuisines). Your hands are often dry and cracking, too, so we're keeping an eye on skin care overall. Your Mom is running a baby day spa up in here.

We are going to do everything we can to ensure you are confident and comfortable in your (sensitive) skin. You just worry about defending the Empire. 

Love always, Dad.   

Dear Eliza, 29 Months Old

I'm writing this letter from my hotel room in Austin, Texas. I'm here for SXSW. You, your Mom and Matteo are back at home hanging with Grammie, who is helping while I'm away.  She didn't need an excuse to visit as a new retiree. It's no secret that I love to travel, but traveling without you is a little less fun. It's FOR SURE easier not having to travel with all the accessories you require -- car seat, stroller, etc. -- but I simply miss the proximity to you.

I like to say "This is why I went to college" when my job provides me opportunities and privileges to see and do things I wouldn't choose or otherwise be able to afford. I see the trade-offs in getting to have these kinds of trips but not always being able to share them.  

Back on the home front, you are continuing to do well at potty training and you prance around naked or bottomless most of the day so you aren't tempted by the convenience of a pull-up.

Your language is getting better. A milestone: Amazon Alexa and Greta both understand you now. You can get Alexa to "play Moana on Spotify" and you can get Greta to sit. Command of machine and beast are necessary if we are to remain the dominant species. 

You are also awfully commanding to your parents. You know your manners but sometimes forget them, omitting the pleases and thank yous. Get those back on track. When you are really upset with a parental decision (e.g. bedtime), you default to a Mariah-Carey-high-pitch scream that is surely making me more deaf than I already am. This proves out that nurture can only stamp out so much nature in a child. I don't know where the heck you picked that behavior up. We don't reinforce it through reward, but you certainly get a reaction out of us.

I'm going to keep this letter like you, short and sweet. I can't wait to give you a big hug and smooch when I get home. Until then...

Love always, Dad 

Dear Matteo, 8 Months Old

This month has been all about physical skills and expressions. You are getting the hang of using your hands and fingers, and the assisted squats in the bouncer are starting to pay off. 

You can sit up on your own and play independently for long stretches. That's a huge relief for those of us trying to find precious minutes of freedom for meal prep, screen time, using the bathroom, showers, etc.

You grab everything in sight. When I'm holding you and trying to feed myself -- always a bad combination --  I have to keep my own food as far away from you as possible to the point that I can barely reach it. Plates, cups, utensils, napkins... you name it, you grab it. We're way too smart to try and use a tablecloth. You've long enjoyed grabbing a chunk of your sister's hair and she's started to keep her distance. Greta learned recently to keep her fur out of your range, too. The other day, you were sitting up and as she walked by you grabbed a chunk of fur, causing her to to scamper, and you didn't let go. She dragged you over as a result, a little like a waterskier hanging onto the rope a little too long after a fall and skidding along the water at speed. You cried. You got over it. Such is life. 

Your pincher grasp and eye-hand coordination are excellent and working well together so you can feed yourself. Like with Eliza, we are practicing "baby-led weaning," which is a fancy way of saying we give you soft foods instead of baby foods. It's fun to watch you shove food in your mouth, sometimes missing the target, and learn how to chew. You have no problem grabbing foods like tofu, smashed peas, blueberries and pasta. You have developed a bit of a temper if you're out of food in front of you. You immediately shout and complain until there's something back within your pincher grasp. You have quite the high standard for food service. 

You have gained some silly, spastic behaviors. You shake your head side-to-side rapidly and giggle with the dizziness. You like to slam your hands in front of you in the high chair. You can roll-over in succession across the room like a movie star dodging a spray of enemy fire. Sometimes when you're on your back, you thrust your hips up and hump the air rapidly. Don't be that kind of movie star. 

You think Eliza is the funniest person in the world. Your Mom used to be your favorite, but when your sister is nearby you discard her as little more than a convenient milk source and household Uber. You gaze at Eliza with a grin and whenever she laughs, you laugh back and the two of you giggle at each other for minutes at a time, gasping for breath between cackles.

These are the times that your Mom and I will always remember: seeing you two interact and make each other laugh. I hope you always find your sister that funny. When you're older and don't find your Mom entertaining or care for my dad jokes, you still have to call us. 

Love always, Dad