Half a year.
Halfway to a year old, that is.
These past six months have given me lots of opportunities to reaffirm that “it won’t last forever.” Write it down, ’cause it’s gone before I have time to realize it. That applies to the cute little scrunch-up-my-nose-when-I-wake-up face, and to the 2 and 3 a.m. bedtimes. Gone. Over. Alive only in baby books.
I try not to cry. I do sometimes. But mostly I’m just caught up with how much he’s growing.
He’s mastered rolling over this month, for instance. Thwump. A moment lapses. Thwump, again. It’s the sound of Jameson rolling from tummy to back to tummy — whichever way seems to be advantageous in the procuring of the currently desired object.
He’s also already outgrown baby toys and would rather go for the stack of paperwork. I really honestly thought the stuffed animals would hold a bit more intrigue at this point. Oh well.
He’s become aggressive in his interaction with life. It’s like two weeks ago, he woke up and realized he could actually be a part. Suddenly he’s reaching and scooting and grabbing and deciding who he wants to be with. It’s so amazing! There’s a little person in there! For real!
He reaches for me now, too. How cool is that? In the middle of the night, when he whimpers from his basket, I bend to pick him up — and see little hands waving towards me in the dark. Oh, man, how awesome!
He laughs and laughs and laughs. It’s the most amazing thing to look in his bluer-than-blue eyes and know that he knows we’re having fun together. He also does this new upset routine. He must have figured out that being sad motivated me to do what he wanted, so if he just feigned sadness, maybe he’d get the same result… It’s a riot. I’m not sure he was hoping for the hysterical laughter that ensues every time he pulls that stunt.
We read books, and he’s already got a favorite. We play peek-a-boo and make funny noises with our lips. Sometimes I get on the floor next to him, and he thinks that’s totally awesome. Ryan has voices for the three favorite stuffed animals, and Jameson will break into a grin the minute he hears the voice — never mind seeing the toy. He’s mastered his Johnny-Jump-Up and can get some serious air. He also can spin like nobody’s business. And of course, we sing all day. Some songs are “real” songs, and lots of them are just silly-mama songs. (You know. The kind I make up without really thinking, but please don’t ever repeat them to me.)
So, at 6 months, I don’t have any real genius activity to report. Just normal stuff that all you moms have seen over and over. Truth be told, so had I. Babies aren’t new to me. I’ve held and loved more than my share as the oldest Sinclair. (Which means, Bri, that according to Merrick I will always know more than you.) But this being a mom thing, having my very own son… Wow. I can’t believe how totally caught up I am in how his diapers fit and how runny his nose is and if he’s lost more hair or not and how absolutely perfect his cheeks are for kissing. I love him.
Yeah. I love him.
(More six month pics on the ol’ flickr.)