Olive, you probably have no idea what your real name is.  You are probably wondering whether you are chunk, bug, love, noodle, babygirl or bambina.  It’s probably very confusing.  You can be certain of these two things, though … you were born in San Francisco and when you’re excited you wave your arms a lot. 

Olive, yesterday was March 10th, your 5 monthday.  We had breakfast at Plow, picked up some film at Photoworks, had some coffee at Four Barrel, and then did some food shopping and came home.   In the afternoon, mom made an apple crumble and a berry crumble while you and I walked to Cask to get a bottle of gin, and then went on a wild goose chase for frozen corn.  Once we tracked down the corn (only took 4 tries to find frozen corn in downtown SF), we walked back home and then mom made tortilla soup and dad made drinks, including a Rattlesnake, some Salty Dogs, and some Briar Patches.  Pablo and Hoi came over to help us out with the soup and drinks.  You fell asleep before they arrived. 

I can promise you one thing, Olive: on your first birthday, there will be no frozen corn.

Olive, you love texture.  You want to touch whatever you see.  You don’t discriminate. You like the smooth, grooved surface of the butcherblock kitchen table.  You like the lacquered, pitted surface of our tall wooden chairbacks.  You like the scratchy canvas of the striped lumbar pillow.  You love grabbing a fistful of cat fur.  In the mornings, you like absentmindedly moving your fingers through daddy’s beard.  You even seem to like the feel of wool sweaters that daddy always found itchy.  On the balance, Olive, you have an adventurous sense of touch.  But not as adventurous as your sense of taste, which compels you to eat everything you’ve touched.

Olive, I took this from our hospital room the day you were born.  It’s “film”.  I’ll explain later.

Olive, you understand kisses now. When mom or dad leans close to kiss you, you close your eyes and open your mouth to kiss back. 

Of course, here, mom sneak-attacked you.  You had no chance.

Olive, you may be a masochist. We lean you back comfortably in your seat, and you strain to sit up. We rest your head against our knees, and you strain to sit up. We put you in the boppy with your head propped slightly, and you strain to sit up.

Girl… you don’t need a stinkin’ six pack. Relax. Enjoy baby life.

Mom took this.

Olive, we took this shot of a heart-shaped hole in a rock in the Pacific Ocean together at the beginning of our staycation last month.  Well, technically daddy took it with his Hasselblad, a camera he was using for the first time, whilst holding you and stepping past a rope barrier that said “danger” as mommy shook her head.

Sure, this shot is just OK, but the point is: it had a high degree of difficulty, we didn’t really know what we were doing, and we did it together.

Get used to that.

Mornings.  Olive, on the night of December 21st, 2011, you slept for 8 consecutive hours.  Something was probably wrong with you, because it hasn’t happened since.  Most nights, you sleep until 4, then wake up to eat at least once more before you’re up for good (which is usually around 6).  These are what mommy and I call “the good nights”. 

Some nights, you sleep until 2, wake up to eat, and then do the same thing 2 more times before waking up for good at 6. 

These nights are what mommy and I call “bullshit”.

Olive, you might be wondering how you became a planet.  Well, sometimes two asteroids cross paths in outer space, become magnetically drawn to one another, and crash, causing a big bang…

What’s important is that you became Planet Olive when your sister Emma (pictured) asked your pregnant mommy to text her a belly photo.  Mommy did, and Emma took one look at the photo and said “you’re a planet!” Mommy thought that was rude-funny and posted it on Facebook.  It was universally loved.

That was a pun.  All daddy jokes are funny.

So, you were born with a little bit of hair, but not much of it was on your head.  And to add insult to injury, a fair amount of it fell out in your first couple of weeks, including your eyebrow hair which disappeared completely.  But in the past month, the eyebrows have come back with a vengeance.  Mom says they look like Grandpa Restaino’s.  Your whole head sort of resembles Grandpa’s, actually.  

Anyhow, good news: the hair is starting to fill back in, and in fact I can’t really discern a hairline at all in front.  Your hair wants to grow in all the way on down to your eyebrows.  Which would be… unusual.  But then, so is your shoulder hair.  And your back hair.

You may want to delete this post when you get older.