Thursday, March 02, 2006

Six Months: My Letter to Baby Boy

You know, when I was in my late teens and early twenties (I know, hard to believe I was ever that age, but I swear, I wasn't always as old as I am now), six months in a relationship was a huge accomplishment for me. Before the six-month mark, if people asked how long I'd been with whoever I was dating, I figured that answering two months or four months just wasn't that impressive. But six months? That's a huge deal! That's half a year! That's a long time! It meant that the relationship really meant something and could potentially reach that usually elusive one-year mark.

And so for the past couple of weeks, when people have asked me how old you are, I've rounded it up to six months. Because that makes it sound like I'm a pro at this mom thing. Before six months, people think "oh, she's probably got no idea what she's doing." But now, we are total experts at this mom and baby thing you and I, like we've been doing it forever.

Your dad and I are definitely different people because of you. Before, we lived our lives and didn't worry about anyone else. We did what we did when we wanted. But now, we consider your needs too. Before we go somewhere, we wonder if you'll have something to do besides play with sharp knives. And if you won't, then we pack up a U-Haul trailer and bring every single one of your toys with us, so that every one of us can have a good time at the strip joint.

I'm kidding. We don't bring you to strip joints. I swear. However, you have been to just about every kind of restaurant with us. From the most casual to one of the fanciest. And you do really good. People usually fawn over you and you smile at them, putting on the performance, your invisible tapping shoes going 50 miles an hour trying to impress your fans.

You still won't sit in your bouncy seat during our dinners at home. I always end up with you on my lap while I eat dinner, which was fine until this past month when you've become more adept with your hands and have begun reaching for stuff on my plate or simply pushing my entire plate away when you've decided I've had enough. Apparently, you're thinking I still have too much meat on my bones. Which you're right about, but deal with it. You gave me this tummy, don't you know. But I don't blame you, I thank you because one day, I'll be able to get that tummy tuck blaming my pregnancies and have a flat stomach for the first time in my life. So thank you for being my alibi.

You also keep getting smarter and smarter. I taught you to High Five one day, when I was out of stuff to do with you. You figured it out in under two minutes and now we high five each other constantly, like two surfer dudes who drank too many Dr. Peppers.

But you still won't laugh for me very often. Your dad, however, is a different story. He has this routine where he pretends to grab you belly or your cheeks and eat them. You laugh so hard when he does this, that you've given yourself the hiccups on more than one occasion. If I do the same thing, I just get the pity smile like "mother, you are my nurturer, not my entertainer. Now go make me a bottle, woman."

You're learning to sit up, which you're happy about, as long as you don't slip or fall down. Should your head ever meet the carpet after you've been put in a sitting position, you get pissed. I'm talking about bricks on the outside of the house coming loose decibel level.

You've got a new best friend now, Isaac, who was born last month. We tell you he's your best friend, but you just stare at him with great disdain each time you see him and spend your time showing his parents how talented you are compared to their useless newborn child. You'll pull out every stunt, the fist sucking, the bubble blowing, the head bobbing, whatever it takes to make them realize that you are still the superior creature and always will be. And you're fascinated by the ladies. Doesn't matter if they're four months old or eighty years old. You'll flirt with them and they all swoon at your smiles and that glimmer in your eyes. You are well on your way to breaking many a hearts. Take it from a girl who's been there, Baby Boy, treat those hearts with care. Because some day, someone will break your heart and make you think that you will never love again and you'll wake up every morning feeling awful about all the people you've hurt this way.

If I can pass one thing on to you, I hope it's empathy. I hope you're the most successful person in the world, at whatever it is that you decide to do. But should you get to the top, always keep a place in your heart to help people. Strive to leave the world a better place than how you found it. The world can be a bad harsh place. All it needs is a few more good people and if you do your part, I know wherever you go will be better for it.

Today you're in daycare, celebrating this momentous birthday with your buddies. But tonight, we'll celebrate with a couple of shots of formula and maybe even a dinner of nothing but bananas and applesauce. After all, you only turn six-month old once.

I love you my little man,


1 comment:

Emma in Canada said...

Ah, he's very sweet looking, isn't he? There's just something about a baby boy.