6 months

27 September 2009

Dear Asa,

Six months is a mighty big number, and you are a mighty big boy. Weighing in at 19 pounds this month, you are growing quick. Especially since we started solid foods. You have a new and different energy, new stamina and strength since the introduction of cereal and banana (and now sweet potato, yam, pear and yogurt!). You most definitely enjoy your food and, if I would let you, you’d (try to) feed yourself. One step at a time though kid.

You are easily distracted and, by that same token, interested in every single thing around you. You are constantly craning over my shoulder, trying to see what that person is doing, or where that car is going, or that cat, leaf, bird, speck of dust. You squirm and twist so as to be facing the action always, never missing a moment. You love being a part of the conversation. Eyes darting from left to right you examine the speaker, watching his mouth with curiosity, then you reach for it, fingers needing desperately to touch that noise making thing. Like every intriguing object it must first be pawed, pinched and poked with your tiny fingers, then scooped up and plopped in your mouth. Sometimes you skip the gabbing and go straight for the licking, leaning your drooling mouth right into someone’s face.

(With dad, on the road)

You’ve decided that the worst thing in the world is to have your clothes changed (you feel similarly about being strapped into your car seat). And I mean THE WORST. When I have to change your shirt I take a big deep breath and then plunge in, determined not to stop until the dirty and drooled upon shirt is replaced by a clean one (that will remain clean for exactly 2.8 seconds). And man, do you put up a good fight. You flail your arms, waving them madly, hitting me, yourself, the bed and anything else within your tiny wingspan. You kick and twist your body, rolling one way and then the other, evading me rather deftly. And you scream about it too, of course. Announcing your feelings with all the air in your lungs, you let me know that you do not like this at all, thankyouverymuch.

Our big events this month were tough ones – though I must admit they were probably tougher for me than for you. Falling of the bed was a real doosie. Everyone says it happens, that there’s almost no escaping it. Your kid will fall off something and you will feel horrible for it. And it’s true, it takes only one split second for it to happen. One micro moment in time while your eyes are elsewhere and THUD!, that sickening sound. You began to wail before I could even get you off the floor (a good sign, I thought, somewhere in my panic stricken brain). You were in my arms and we were out the door within seconds. I paced the yard, trying to steady myself before assessing you. My fingers grabbing your small arms and toes, probing for bumps, broken bones, the worst. But you stopped crying before I did. Five, maybe ten minutes and you were on to the next, looking for something new and already distracted by the multitude of colorful, moving objects outside. How quickly you were over it, on to the next. And I, well, I took a bit more calming (thank you Bess for the magic touch).

(Gotta love the drool)

We have also survived your very first cold. I think you hardly noticed it. You played on like nothing was different, like you didn’t have a persistent cough or a river of snot pouring from your nose. The only times you seemed to mind the cold at all were the times we had to help you out. You hated having your nose wiped and sucking it out with that ridiculous nose sucker (aspirator, I think it’s actually called) was just the worst. I hated doing it, you hated sitting through it. But it did help, or at least allow you to suck and breath at the same time, which was of course crucial at meal time. Together, we make it through another milestone.

It’s happening fast (everyone said it would) and you are literally growing before my eyes. Your hair is coming in, you have two bottom teeth about to poke through and a will and determination has surfaced that is positively fierce. You are strong and tenacious, even stubborn sometimes. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love my little fiery Aries, my exuberant boy. My son.



Love,
Mom