Two months with Brooks Wilder.

Dear Brooks,

Thirty more days around the sun has exploded our love for you, just as we expected.

You're weighing in at just under 15 lbs, which puts you in the 99th percentile for weight. "There is no 100th percentile. He's as big as they come," the doctor said. You have rolls in places I've never seen rolls. You are round and happy and apparently getting just what you need. You eat well and spit up a lot, but are generally calm and comfortable.

You're starting to interact with us more every day, easily recognizing Mommy's and Daddy's faces and flashing your bright eyes and deep dimples when we talk to you. You're so tolerant of those loving siblings of yours, not even whimpering when they clobber you with wet kisses all over your face.

You have a name now, sweet boy. One that feels so fitting and came straight from God's hand. We wouldn't have chosen it, but it fits you more perfectly than the one we did choose. And with it comes a story I will never tire of telling.

You are our peaceful place, and someday, we pray you will bring the peace you've found in Christ into our fractured world. We read the headlines today and everyday and there is such a need for the peacemakers. You have a purpose in this world, my Brooks.

I love you like crazy,

Mom

I hope this picture resurfaces at your rehearsal dinner someday. ;)