Little one you are so big now. I look at you and marvel. I see how big you're getting and I feel a little sad. My newborn is gone. My baby is growing up. And my you are a trick and a bit!
In one week you will be a whole 6 months old. Count em. That's half a year! That's half Mumma's maternity leave!! You have some sizable feet now. I was kissing them yesterday, tempting you to laugh and I stopped momentarily to relish the moment. I took a good long look at those little feet with the teeny tiny toes. All of it sooooo divine. You have one toe that hangs back from the others. It's a little shy. Dada thinks there's something wrong with it and wants to send you back to the man for an exchange. But I love Mr Odd Toe Out. He is a statement of individuality. He is a champion amongst meager toes. He is just like you.
There are things that you like to do and things that you simply will not put up with. You like to have kisses on your neck and raspberries on your belly. You absolutely love it when I sing to you and daggy dance in the living room. You think Maggie is the best toy you ever have. Not only does she move and make noise by herself, but instead of imitation kisses she actually does kiss you. You also like your baby rice cereal with deep determination. When I bring out the bowl, your right leg starts fitting with anticipation. You want it, and you want it NOW! When I pop you back into bed at night, just after your little mini feed (that we're hoping will phase out soon and mean a sleep right through) you love it when I rest my hand on your stomach just to make you feel secure while I tuck you in and stroke your cheek and whisper good night.
On the 'things you don't like' I will start with Dada dressing you after a bath. You're kind of impatient with him. A little hostile in fact. He tries so hard to be gentle with you. To completely dry every last section of your body. He rolls you over for a little tummy time, right at the point where you would prefer to have your eye poked out with a butter knife. You grunt and groan and whine and moan at Dada until you finally get your way. I've got no idea where you get that from.
You also don't like to be in the car seat for too long. We've come to learn this from our Saturday morning family ritual of looking for houses. You don't like to be left alone in the living room with only Chopin to accompany you. You really don't like to be woken up. Not now. Not ever. You would rather slowly stir and then rise and shine like Cleopatra from a milk bath. You detest Mumma cutting your nails. I think that's also a patience issue, since I stumble my way through it hoping not to catch your skin - again. And most of all you absolutely 100% cannot tolerate it when we take even one second longer than you have planned in your head to escort that bottle of wonderfully warm milk and guide it into your feverish mouth. You lose the plot.
It's funny, you know, all the things you love and all the things you hate happen to also be the best parts of my day. No matter how cranky, how cheery, how smelly, how wet, how vomity, how wriggly, how inconsolable, how snotty or how bossy you decide to be, I still love you ardently. For ever and ever and ever. Always.