I waited until I knew you better to start this letter.
You look like your sister: heart-shaped face and a cry that could pierce leather. But will you be more like your brother? Or an alchemy of the two?
What we’ve learned about you so far: You’re mostly relaxed, as long as you’re being po po’ed. Your body runs warm. You’re a good sleeper so far, thank goodness, but we haven’t collected enough sample size to make a call.
To be honest, my bud, being the Third comes with a litany of disadvantages.
Your brother had a whole room for him before he was born, equipped with a full dresser, crib, and rocking chair. You’re stuck in our room and rationed 2 drawers and a pack-n-play.
When your sister had her first bath, there were enough hands on deck to record the event. For yours, we had to chuck you in there between the other baths and getting dinner on the table.
It’s not all downsides, though. Your brother and sister love you. Your parents have seen some things, now. They don’t worry about your baby acne. They know the umbilical cord stump falls off when it’s ready.
Also, for you, I’m on my longest paternity leave yet. Which doesn’t affect you directly, since I still find work to do and I don’t hold you and Enjoy The Moment as much as The Books or social media tell me I should. But it does mean I’m here to drive your mom around to her appointments and make her sandwiches, which enables her to po po and snuggle you to both your heart’s content.
The one thing your siblings have taught me: there is no nurture. Not really. You emerge from the womb fully formed, your personality already 80% intact. What’s mostly left is for us to discover what that is.
With that 20% that malleable, perhaps you’ll indulge one hope from your dad:
I hope you learn to love this family you got. Because it’s a lovely one, Theodore, I promise.
And it’s made all the more lovely because you’re a part of it.
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