Six months! That’s a whole half of a year! I don’t know how it’s possible that six months have gone by since you joined us, but it seems as though that’s the case. And instead of a tiny […]
Six months! That’s a whole half of a year! I don’t know how it’s possible that six months have gone by since you joined us, but it seems as though that’s the case. And instead of a tiny blob who doesn’t do or say much, we now have a “big” baby girl on our hands who has (sometimes very loud) opinions and thoughts of her own!
For your sisters and brother, I wrote monthly letters with updates on what they were doing. And I know I should have done the same for you because no one wants to be the kid without a baby book. But instead of that, I now write weekly notes about what our family is doing and, to be honest, babies aren’t really doing that many awe-inspiring things in the first half-year. Sorry to say that, but it’s kind of true. We were awestruck by every move your oldest sister made when she was first born, but that’s because we were new parents. And we were stupid. We’re no less impressed by the things you do it’s just that I don’t feel the need to sit down and pen a novel over the fact that you can hold your own head up. You’re progressing as humans have done for thousands of years. Way to go.
Anyway. Because I know there’s going to come a time when you accuse me of not loving you based on the fact that I didn’t write you a note every month, revealing what size diaper you’re wearing and how many times you blinked over the past four weeks, I’m going to give you a little update here and now because six months is half a year, and that seems noteworthy. Or not. I don’t know.
You’re working really hard on sitting up. You can almost push yourself from lying down to sitting up on your own. And if we sit you down, you can hold the position for a handful of seconds before you tip over like a Weeble. Your brother and sisters are beyond words excited at this development. Your brother is convinced that you’ll be walking before the week is out. (NOTE: I wrote this draft last week, and on Saturday you totally mastered sitting up. You were wobbly on Friday but by Saturday you could go from lying down to sitting up on your own—and now you don’t even wobble. Just like that, you’re a pro!)
I got my act together finally and gave you some solid food. First was avocado. You weren’t impressed. Then we gave you a pizza crust because you’re our fourth child, and fourth children don’t get monthly letters—but they also don’t get the overanalyzed nonsense when it comes to things like introducing solids. Plus, I wanted to eat a piece of pizza, and you kept grabbing it every time I tried to shove it into my pie hold. So, I just gave you a piece of your own to gnaw on. You slobbered all over it for awhile and then dropped it on the ground. Next up was bananas which you seemed to enjoy (read: actually swallowed). I’m pretty sure we’ll give you steak next week.
You’re trying so hard to crawl. You can easily push up onto your hands and knees. You rock back and forth and can hurl yourself forward. You definitely don’t stay in the same place for long. Between rolling and the lunge/crawl you’ve mastered, you’re a girl on the go. It won’t be long now, and you’ll be chasing after your sisters and brothers and getting into everything. I’m sure you’re excited for this, but I’d love it if you would just stay still for awhile longer.
You’re really hanging onto that dark hair. I have a friend who refers to you as “aggressively non-blonde.” Someone else said you look so much like your dad that it’s a little scary. I figure you just wanted to stand out from the other three clones, and dark hair was the way to do that. I keep waiting for it to lighten up, but so far it’s staying dark. Your eyes appear to be staying blue.
For nicknames we call you Funky B. Sometimes just Funky or Funk for short. Dad says you live in Funkministan.
When you’re happy, you kick your legs and pump your arms with excitement. You’re easily distracted by anything your sisters and brother are doing. We have trouble nursing because they always want to be in the room, and when they’re in the room, you want to see what they’re doing. Sometimes, when it works out that everyone is settled down, we nurse quietly before bed, and on occasion you fall asleep. These are my favorite times because it’s just you and me, sitting and rocking. I know I’m going to blink and you won’t want to be rocked anymore, so I’m soaking up every bit of baby you that I possibly can.
Six months ago you came along and made our family complete. On the one hand I feel like those six months have flown right by. And on the other hand, I feel like I’ve known you forever—like you’ve always been a part of our family. We love you to bits, tiny girl, and we’re so glad that you’re ours.