So who is this Henry, anyway?

Henry — or Hensie, or H, or H-Dog as he’s come to be called — is three months old today. So far, he has been born, and gone on a lot of trips. When he was five days old, he rode in the worst weather conditions this part of our state has ever seen all the way to Salem (an hour’s drive) to be with Nona and Papa (my parents) for Christmas. When he was almost two months old, he flew with me to Clarkston, Washington to meet his Great Grandma Mac for the first and last time. In the past two weeks, creeping up on three months old, he has been to Eugene and back twice — once with all of us and once just with me — to see Nona in the hospital after her three concurrent back surgeries. That’s a lot of miles for a baby. And it could have been a big stress for me and everyone else if he were a crier. Or even a complainer. But he’s neither. Sure, he cries when he’s hungry, or when he has gas. But the rest of the time, this dude is either asleep or awake and pretty freakin’ happy — laughing, smiling, or just hanging out. What a huge blessing that has been during this really pretty difficult stretch of life.

I keep telling people the same thing I told them when Sophie (who had a similar temperament) was a baby: They say you get the baby you can handle. Well, turns out I can’t handle much.

Thanks, H. Love you, boy.