Dear Kate,

I'm happy to report that the vast majority of your fourth month of life was spent very happily, since for three weeks of it we were traveling to see family, on what Dan and I began to refer to as the Baby Kate World Tour. It became apparent to us pretty early in the planning stages for the holidays that our families would have totally been OK with it if we'd sent you to see them by yourself. As November turned into December, they'd say things like "Ten days until Kate comes to see us! .... And you, too, Haley! It will be great to see you and .... that guy you're married to. What's his name? Dan? Yes! It will be nice to see him, too!" At one point, we considered taking advantage of the free babysitting and going to Hawaii for a second honeymoon, or maybe just staying home and sleeping for three weeks straight, which to me, sounds like the best Christmas ever right now. But since the airlines won't let you fly unaccompanied yet, we came along for the trip as your chaperones.

For the first leg of the tour, you and I were on our own, flying from Albuquerque to New Orleans. I was really nervous about this, because I've flown a lot over the years, and have witnessed a few quite spectacular infant meltdowns on airplanes. Previously, I have been that childless traveler who knows better than to sit anywhere near the woman with the adorable drooling baby, because everyone knows that kid is going to start screaming the minute the fasten seatbelt sign is turned on. And I have always secretly dreaded the day when that woman would be me. But in the end, like most things I worry about, it really wasn't that bad. Maybe it was because you kind of liked the plane, and fell asleep almost as soon as the engines started droning. Maybe you really wanted the twenty bucks I promised to give you if you would be good, in which case, I had better pay up soon or face your wrath on our next flight. Either way, you were a model traveler, and had quite a fan club going amongst the flight attendants on our plane by the time we landed in New Orleans.

My mom, your Gam, and my brother, your Uncle Ryan, met us at the airport in New Orleans, and from that moment on, you were pretty much held, adored, and spoiled rotten for the next three weeks. I spent plenty of time wondering how you would react when you were back in our house with just boring old me for entertainment, but I mostly really enjoyed seeing you get to know the people we love.

You and I got to attend Ryan's graduation from Mississippi State University, which meant that Ryan got to try out a suggestion I gave him and see how many girls said "Awwww!" when he walked around carrying you. It's a shame we don't live closer to Ryan or you could help him get plenty of dates. ("No, no, she's not mine. She's my niece. Isn't she cute? What are you doing tonight?")

Also during the trip, I think my dad, your Geez, finally settled on a nickname for you. It appears you will be referred to as "Mini Moo." This, I think, is an extension of the dynasty of nicknames that dad has given to several of the girls in our family ... your aunt Audrey is Moose Baby, Aunt Hannah is Middle Moose, and now, you are Mini Moo, and complete the Moose trilogy. Congratulations.

One of my favorite things about our time in Mississippi was seeing how much my brothers really wanted to hang out with you. That makes it sound like I think they are hard-hearted baby haters, and that's not true at all. I just didn't think they would be so excited about a baby. After all, they are Marines. They drive trucks. They hunt deer. They are manly men. And they were putty in your hands. Baby-talking, face-making, catering to your every whim putty. If anyone wanted to hold you, they had to get in line behind Aaron and Ryan. It was adorable.

In San Antonio, you met your Aunt Hannah and Uncle Josh for the first time, as well as another very important member of the Wachdorf, Maggie the dog. We missed your Aunt Dinah and Uncle Chris, who couldn't get home for the holidays. In a few years, I bet you'll be able to talk your Aunts Hannah and Dinah into telling you lots of stories from when your daddy was a little boy. You know, in case you need some leverage when you're trying to get him to buy you that pony.

We also found out for sure that you have some strong Wachdorf genes in you, because you love to play cards, which happens to be the official pastime of the Wachdorf family. This has been interesting for me, because I not only don't like to play cards, I am terrible at it. I constantly have to be retaught the rules of any given game, and am incapable of executing good strategy when I do play. The family has been gracious to me and allowed me to sit out the card games and read instead, but obviously they have higher hopes for you, and it appears you aren't going to let them down. Every evening, you'd sit in your dad's lap and help him arrange his cards. By next year you'll probably be shuffling the cards yourself if the genes kick in all the way.

Now we're home, and you certainly are going through the people withdrawal I had anticipated. One weird result of this is that I have to sing the children's song "Old MacDonald Had a Farm" to you about a dozen times a day. Why that song? Because when we were in San Antonio, your Grammy Wachdorf started singing it to you and you loooooooove it. You love it so much that you will stop fussing and listen to it if we sing it. You will not accept just any half-hearted version of Old MacDonald, though. Grammy sang it to you with great gusto, doing the animal noises with particular emphasis, and that is the only way you want to hear the song. So this week, observers in our home would have seen me spending a lot of time working on a realistic "moo" sound to go with Old MacDonald's cow, and also claiming in song that this farmer had obscure animals like spider monkeys on his farm because I am running out of animals to sing about, but if I stop singing, you immediately go 'Aaaahhhh!" which is code for "Keep singing, woman, or I will make your life miserable!" Please remind me to thank your Grammy Wachdorf for teaching you this song next time we see her. Really.

So now we're back in Albuquerque, and it's like we've come home from with a different child, because you did so much growing up in those few weeks. When we left, you were showing no interest in toys, and now you love toys. Specifically, you love to put toys in your mouth, which is also where you recently decided your hands should stay at all times. You pretty much think everything should go in your mouth, which has resulted in some funny moments. One day during our trip, I was watching you play with your feet. You raised them up in the air, studied them for a minute, and then opened your mouth, clearly trying to determine whether or not they would fit in your mouth if you ever figured out how to get them up there. This has become your major project, and any day now, I expect you to succeed. That's the thing about you. You're always changing, and learning something new, and that's so much fun to watch. Thanks for being such a good traveler. I definitely owe you twenty bucks.

E I E I O,
Mommy