As of tomorrow, my son will have been loitering recumbently around my apartment for twelve weeks, experiencing his 13th Wednesday. It’s an exciting time for him (like every day is), with the mischievous, sweaty hug of summer giving way to the fuzzy embrace of fall. He continues to grow, insisting on getting longer and heavier each day, giving my wife a hard time and demanding that I start working out just so my arms can keep a hold of him. My son has grown up a lot in a short time—he can now lift his head with relative ease, and it won’t be long before he’s rolling over and crawling around. He’s starting to smile now, and he babbles a lot now, too. Conversations often happen like this:

“Hi, Nathan! Did you have a good nap?”

Cordially, “Gggg–goooh.”

“Oh, I’m glad to hear that. I’ll bet you’re pretty hungry, now!”

“Ngooh–ghooh,” with excitement.

“Huh! I thought so.”

Other than that, I’ve been asking him constantly to say mama or dahdah. His first words are a long way off still, but it’s fun to watch him try to figure out what the hell my lips and tongue are doing.

Since my son is always staring at one thing or another, I try to be the narrator to the documentary of his explorations and observations. A popular object of his attention is anything black and white—a little stuffed panda on top of the mirror in the living room, the letters on my shirt, or even the crown molding in the bedroom. I narrate—look at the panda, isn’t it cute? See his black eyes and ears, and his white back?

He’s a sponge for knowledge. Whatever I show him or say to him, the wheels go turning in his head to process what he’s witnessed. One night this weekend, my son suddenly held up a fist in front of his face, staring intently and moving it back and forth in regular, jerky movements. He’d discovered that he has hands! Earlier in the day, I’d showed him how I put my thumb and index finger together, and he must have been thinking about that revelation all day, finally being ready to try it himself that night. It’s amazing and incredibly gratifying to watch him learning all these simple little things.

Twelve weeks, almost three calendar months, and thirteen different Wednesdays. The time’s gone in a hurry, but I have to admit I’m enjoying my time with my son more now than ever before. Honestly, newborns are quite boring. They don’t do much of anything. Twenty or more of their hours are spent sleeping. Now, however, my son’s starting to learn the basic things that make us human—social skills like smiling when we see a friend or using our voices to communicate our needs.