Six months

Harrison,

Six months, in the span of a life time isn't really that long. You'll know this one day. Today however, you have been here for six months. And that, my tiny friend, is a lifetime; your life time. It's funny, but the memories of my life, of our families life before you, don't seem quite real. I mean, I remember them (I may be crazy, but I'm not senile), but it seems unreal that I lived this long without you in my life. Six months and I can't imagine life without you.

You've done a lot in the last six months: you've learned to sit up, eat with a spoon, to roll around, to bat your eyes at me when you want something. You babble all day long. I fear that when you start talking, you will out talk your sisters, which is going to be a hard feat. You sing, which is one of the most beautiful sounds I've ever heard in my life.

I'll tell you a secret, you sleep. Don't tell anyone, because a sleeping infant is not something to brag about, but you have slept through the night since you were about six weeks old. I'd feel slightly bad about this, except your sister Bailey didn't sleep for the first, oh two years of her life. So I feel even. Like somehow you sleeping is a gift that the greater forces of the world gave me. Between you and me, I'm glad you love to sleep. I'm getting a bit old for the non-sleeping gig.

Last week during an unfortunate incident with sweet potatoes (dude, I'm sorry, truly), you cried and cried and cried. I realized something that day; it had been weeks since I'd heard you cry. Weeks, seriously. You are not a crier. You get fussy when you are tired or hungry, but you don't really cry. It broke my heart to listen to you that day. Even when you rolled under the dog yesterday and she stepped on your hand and you cried for a second, it hurt me. Although, dude, you did roll right under her. Note to you, when you are three and having a fit, it won't break my heart when you cry. But right now, it still does.

You are fascinated by music of any kind. You think the coolest thing in the world is the firetrucks that pass the house. You adore your sisters; you light up when they enter the world. You think the dog is awesome, you love it when she licks your face. You believe your daddy is the greatest toy in the entire world. But I am still your favorite.

Son, you light up my life. I can't imagine how you could be any more awesome than you are. One thing though? The backwards crawling thing you keep trying to do? I've told you a dozen times at least that crawling is not for tiny six month old babies. It's a house rule. Crawling is not to be attempted until eight months at least. You are too tiny to your mom and you would be good to remember the crawling rule. Because I'm about to start docking your future allowance if you keep breaking this rule. Don't laugh at me, I will do it, I will. Stop batting those big brown eyes at me, it's not going to work.

Ok, fine. Crawl. Whatever. Happy six months.

Love you, mama