The other day I took you on a walk. You were strapped to me – your legs around my waist and your head resting on my chest. As I walked around the block on an oddly mild June day, your tiny little body perfectly nestled into mine, I found myself thinking, were I younger and wealthier, I’d definitely have another child.
The fact that you’re only six-months-old and the the idea of another child doesn’t send me to the liquor cabinet? That’s a testament to you, my little angel baby.
It’s been difficult trying to keep up with these letters and often feel like I’m gushing about the same things over and over again – how much I love you, how sweet you are or how blessed I am. And, while I could recount the moments that aren’t so lovely (like how you’ve realized that life goes on while you sleeps – a significant and definitive issue for you as you do not want to miss out on ANY fun, resulting in a bedtime screaming session with a passion usually reserved for something truly abhorrent like, say, the dentist) the truth is, those moments pale in comparison to the whole. At least once a day I have a moment when just being with you and your brother makes me completely and totally full.
You’re determined not to let your brother’s massive personality outshine you and are already giving us glimpses of a happy, outgoing, energetic girl. Your laugh is infectious – it’s the tiniest chuckle that sounds almost like a cough or the start of a good cry – and you think blowing raspberries is the funniest thing in the world. You watch me as you lie on your changing table, blowing spit everywhere, just to see if you can make me smile. It works every time.
You can sit upright but you’re so eager to move – to get down on the ground and scope out everything – that sitting holds very little interest. And, now that you can slide yourself across the floor, things are about to get very, very interesting. For all of us.
When someone calls your name from the other side of the room, you look at them intensely with those gorgeous blue eyes – those eyes, which like most everything else about you, are all your father. There isn’t a day that goes by in which someone doesn’t comment on your eyes. And there’s nothing better than seeing you get excited the minute I get home from work – it’s one of the best parts of my day.
Each evening, while I nurse you and rock you to sleep, I wonder who you and your brother will be when you’re older. I worry about being a good enough mother – about providing the support you need and enough discipline to keep you out of harms way but not so much that you fail to learn lessons of your own. I hope that you’re happy – that life grants you as much as its granted your father and me – and that you can appreciate just how much we all have. I feel torn between the excitement over watching you grow and the desire to keep you my babies as long as possible but, I try to let it all go – to enjoy the moments and to give you as much love as possible because, right now, that’s all I can do.
Thank you for giving us an incredible, albeit warped speed, 6 months. We love you little princess.