If I chose one word to describe this month, it would be Development. Holy cow, are you growing up fast!
Each day it seems as if you learn something new. You started the month timidly grasping at objects; now, you lunge at them with no inhibition. You stick everything in your mouth; they emerge bathed in your gooey spit. You drool. A LOT. Your new trick is curling your tongue.
You rolled over once during Tummy Time, although I was taking a sip of water and didn’t quite see how you did it (I’m never drinking again, btw). For the next few weeks, I was convinced I imagined it, but just in the last few days you’ve been scrunching up your legs and pushing off to one side. I bet you roll over by the end of the week.
You’ve begun taking more of an interest in our cats, lucky for them. You track them with your eyes. You look around when you hear their meows. Baron appreciated when you put his tail in your mouth. I know you two are going to be best buds; he already joins you every day for Tummy Time.
You’re getting good at burping in my face. Just like your dad.
This was a month of some firsts: slow dancing at a concert, swimming in Grandma’s spa, a trip to the aquarium, and a baseball game, although we left after the seventh-inning stretch due to boredom. Note: We are not sports people. Please don’t punish us by becoming a football player.
Because your father and I only see you for a few hours after work, we’ve really been enjoying our late afternoons with you. We cuddle on the couch, we heap encouragements on you during Tummy Time, we sing to you, we play on the bouncy ball. You erase all the stress from the workday.
You still insist on going down for the night at 6 p.m. More often than not, you wake up twice for food before morning, which ranges between 5:30-6:30 a.m. I’ve wondered if there will ever be a time I’m not exhausted all of the time. OK, OK – you’re worth it.
I know you’re going to find this weird, but before I go to bed, I sneak into your nursery, lean over the crib, and inhale you for a few minutes. Your lingering baby smell, mixed with sweat, is still intoxicating.
You fell on your head this month. Every parent says it happens eventually, but that didn’t make it easier. Your dad had propped you on the couch while he and I were annihilating an infestation of flies (so incredibly gross). There was a support pillow to your right, but not to the left, which was on the edge of the couch, OVER THE HARDWOOD FLOOR. You can see where this is going. I saw you topple out of the corner of my eye, but couldn’t get to you fast enough. You were a brave dude and only cried for a few minutes. We Googled all the terrible things to watch for (pupils not dilating, excessive sleepiness, etc.), but you were fine. I’m still a mess about it.
You continue to be a big guy, although your rate of growth seems to be slowing. You are now 17.1 pounds, up two pounds from last month. You’re wearing 6-9 month clothes. Because of you, I can no longer guess the age of other babies. I saw a baby at work that was slightly bigger than you. “Let me guess….seven months?” Not even close – 12.
I seem to end these posts with an embarrassing story about your effluvia, so why stop now. Back when I gained 55 pounds during pregnancy, I could no longer wear my favorite dress, my SKINNY dress, my $115 dress from Anthropologie. After you were born, I hung it up in my closet as motivation to shed the weight. Once I could fit in that dress, I knew I would have reached my weight-loss goal.
Well, that day came this month, and I chose to wear the dress during an important evening event at work. I was looking great!
But then you stopped by with your dad so that I could see you for a bit. You were hungry and I had a few minutes before I was needed at the event. I put you over my shoulder to burp you, cuddled you tight, and said aloud, “Bliss, Bliss, Bliss.”
Charles: “His sense of comedic timing is coming along nicely.”