Mushy Mama at Six Months

My darling baby son,

You are six months old now, a whole half a year. Wow! I am your mother and I have kept you alive and (fairly) well for this long. Wow! Looking back on these last months, I feel as though we’ve been in a tunnel, in a fog, on an amazing journey that no one outside our family of three can fully comprehend.

I remember the moment you were born and I will never forget it. I fell head over heals in love for you the instant I held your sweet body in my arms. Looking at you now, it’s impossible to think that you weren’t here in our world but a mere six months ago. You were always a twinkle in my eye, but I can’t help but think you were just waiting to born into our family. Just waiting for your time.

And as much as I loved you instantly, at 6:56pm September 12th 2007, I love you more with each day that passes, every day that you blossom into the boy you were intended to become. We’ve gotten to know each other pretty well, you and I. You throw your arms around me now and snuggle in close in a way that’s just for Mommy. I rub your back and give you bisous when you do this, and I happen to think you like it. Sometimes, quite often, you stare deeply into my eyes while you are nursing. And I stare right back into your deep blues, loving that you haven’t been socialized to not stare. You can always stare at me. I hope you’ll always let me stare at you—I’m sure someday I’ll have to stare from a distance. I am in awe of you, my boy.

Now, at the ripe old age of six months, you can sit and play a little by yourself, and you try to soothe yourself when you get upset or are trying to sleep. This is both happy and sad for me, as your mother. The books say it’s an accomplishment when your baby can soothe himself, but knowing you need me a little less is bittersweet. I see you from a distance and wonder what you’re thinking about as you examine your giraffe lovey or stare out the window in the car. I know what it means to be a mother now, and this is just one of the inexplicable sentiments that come with this new territory.

My mother, your grandma, has at various times over the years mentioned wishing she were a “fly on the wall” in parts of my life—going away to college, for instance. Now, as I crawl across the floor of your room to peek at you from underneath the bumper of your crib to see if you’re sleeping, or just to spy on you really, I can’t help but feel the same way. We’re in for trouble if the spying starts now, at six months!! I promise I’ll try to be the least innocuous type of bug on the wall, or at least until you’re a teenager anyway.

A snapshot of you, Chou-chou, at six months, would reveal a real character. I would not describe you as a “content” baby; nor are you an “observer”. You let the world know when you’re happy, with a smile so wide and endearing, and high-pitched baby talk and squeals. You also let us have it when you’re upset or frustrated, though, too. You’re really getting the whole whining business down pretty well. I was an expert whiner as a child, so maybe you take after me in this regard. I think you’ll be less frustrated once you learn how to crawl—unfortunately I think we’re still a ways off from this milestone. Lately you have been “pushing up” on your belly pretty high, and we urge you on with mother- and father-ese and raised hands. You look at us like you’re not sure if you think we’re crazy or amazing for carrying on! Overall, you are such an excited boy, so full of life. You want to be a part of whatever is going on, and you want to put anything and anyone in your mouth to chew on. Your bite is no longer gummy, though- as of last week (March 3rd, first tooth) you have two teeth.

There are most definitely other things, big and little, to report in your exciting life, my Dear. Tomorrow things may all change, too- that is the nature of babyhood it would seem. Just the other day I showed you your light-up bee toy that soothed you through many a colic meltdown, not so long ago—and old friend, really—and yet you were no longer impressed. Sure, you light up for your grenouille or your canard now, and you still have a thing for your Winnie-the-Pooh hand-me-down red balloon. But your abeille has seen his day in the spotlight, and can safely be packed away for your little brother or sister to come. Chou-chou’s moving on to bigger and better, more exciting things!

So that’s you in March 2008, Chou-chou! Or at least a small part of you, from your mother’s perspective. I’m sure your daddy would have many other notes to add. I am excited to see what I will have to report at one year and beyond. Not so excited that I want to move past this precious stage that you’re at right now, though. Ahh… motherhood.