Yesterday, on September 11, you turned 5 months old. It's the 10 year anniversary of the most terrifying moment in my personal history, aside from the day you were born. I was not there, but I can, more than ever, empathize with those that were, or those that lost family. I have been blessed to lose few close family members, and none of them young, but I came very close to losing you, and you are more precious to me than anything I can imagine.
It has, otherwise, been a pretty eventful month! You dazzled us with your snuffling and snorting from your first ever cold, which you caught while we were at the beach. Contrary, as usual.
You've met quite a few people that I was so eager to introduce you to: my very best friend, and her daughter, who is only a couple months older than you are, and unbelievably adorable, and your Daddy's two best friends and their children as well. We spent a week at the beach, which you were totally unimpressed by, but you have grown and developed in amazing ways in the last month. Suddenly, you smile in recognition for me and Daddy, and just yesterday evening, you grabbed a toy and shoved it in your mouth for the first time on purpose. I thought your Daddy was going to burst in pride, especially since it was the first toy he bought for you before you were born.
He even took that picture, which leads me to another amazing development: you and Daddy are suddenly best buds. He got positively teary eyed last night thinking about going back to work today and leaving you, when a few weeks ago we thought there was no way he was going to survive his stay at home with you. You went from screaming terror, unable to get out the gas that was apparently boiling in your stomach, to happy, cheery, squeeing baby. You are officially FUN.
My child, you have mastered the art of the head bob. I'm pretty sure that's something you got from me - a large head and a wee body, so it's hard to hold up. You are trying to sit up, however, and hopefully this won't turn you into a head banger. That's so 90's. Which, oddly, reminds me of a new dance craze, called the "Bern", which imitates the dead character in Weekend at Bernie's. Yeah, dance like you have rigor mortis. I can't wait to see what the future in dance holds for you. I hope you'll participate and not be afraid - nothing's funnier than recalling my own history with the Roger Rabbit, my neon socks, my scrunchies and my tiger printed half skirt over biker shorts.
Your NICU follow up is next month, and even though I know you're doing perfectly, it scares the crap out of me. Our friend T's son R is easily four pounds bigger than you are, and trying to stand when you can barely hold your head up. He's not sitting up yet, either, but he's close. He's a month younger than you are. Still, you two are pretty close in development, and you were meant to be a month younger than he is.
Squealing and yelling is new M.O. You shout, and you bob your head, and you yell about how you hate being cold. You detested the ocean, so the three swim shirts and shorts I got carried away and bought pretty much went unused. You slept once on the beach, and we walked a lot. That, I'm afraid, is as good as it got. I learned to knit while at the beach instead. I spent most of my time with you, knitting and reading. You loved your travel swing, mercifully. You refuse to go to sleep to the point where I changed to the lyrics of "I Never Go to Work" by They Might be Giants from "Oh, no, no, I never go to work" to "Oh no, no I never go to sleep". You make me crazy, and just when I think I couldn't love you any more, you grin and coo at me, and I cannot resist you.