Half a year. Your first year of life is already half gone. Your babyhood half over. Okay, maybe not that. You’ll be my baby as long as I say you’re my baby. I intend for that to be quite awhile.
Dinah girl, you are astonishing, every single day. Six months in and you are still the most popular person in our household. Everyone proclaims you to be the sweetest/most beautiful/cutest baby to ever baby. You practically radiate sunshine. You’ve had your first cold this past month, and even that couldn’t dim your contagious smile. Whenever you look into someone’s face, you immediately bust out your charming grin.
You’re beginning to teethe. No sign of any little white pearls yet, but you grab hold of toys and gnaw ferociously. You the only one of our babies to seem to intuitively understand what teething toys are for. You also like to stick your fingers in your mouth and chew and suck on them. Oddly, your thumb and your pacifier you’ll only ever chew on, not suck.
You have also learned how to blow raspberries and it is one of your favorite pastimes. While playing in your crib or play pen, or riding in the car or stroller, I often hear you, making sounds like a little motor boat. Peekaboo is another new favorite. I put a light blanket over you, covering your face and say, “Where’s Dinah?” You grab the blanket and pull it down and I proclaim, “There she is!” Your face bursts into a big smile. Every. Single. Time. I think you could play that game all day and, honestly, sometimes so could I.
I think (I hope?) we’re finally starting to turn the corner away from that rough four-month sleep regression. You no longer need a swaddle, which is good because you were rolling over onto your tummy and getting stuck so I took it away. We also took away the mini-crib from my Great Uncle Richard and Great Aunt Val, as you were rapidly outgrowing it. It will now go into storage until you or one of your siblings is ready to use it for your own babies someday. You now sleep in the same big crib we bought for Zoey, that each one of you has slept in. You love having the room to roll around in it, and I love that I have someplace safe to let you play while I get stuff done in our bedroom.
You’re finally beginning to develop something of a sleep pattern, usually three naps a day still. A lot of the time I don’t bother trying, as you’re so willing to go with the flow. You sleep wonderfully when I’m walking you in the stroller, and will drift off in your car seat for short naps while I drive as well. Except in the evenings. You still always scream in the car in the evenings, when you’re too worn out from the day and can’t calm yourself enough to sleep.
I can no longer put you in the baby swing without the five-point harness on, as you like to arch your back and roll and it’s only a matter of time until you fling yourself out of it. The bouncy seat may also be a thing of the past now, as it only has a three-point harness and doesn’t hold you in very well. That one is going to be hard to let go of, as we picked it out and bought it while I was pregnant with Zoey.
Speaking of outgrowing, all the three month clothes have been resigned to donation except for a few choice pieces I’m saving. Those ones have been carefully washed, folded and put into ziploc bags with labels saying why that particular outfit or clothing piece has sentimental value. You’re now in six month clothes, and it kills me to think about how short of a time I have to try and get you into them all before they’re too small as well.
You are very interested in learning to crawl. You pull your knees up under you and get your bum high in the air for a few seconds. It’s only a matter of time before you figure out the forward motion part. You roll from one side of the living room to the other in a matter of seconds. The other day I found you underneath a recliner and realized it was time to do some baby-proofing. I set up the plastic “baby jail” play pen the very next day. Now you have room to roll and explore while staying out of mischief.
If there’s one thing I hope I never forget about your babyhood, Dinah, it’s how completely sweet you are. Your smiles. Your snuggles. The sing-song cooing sounds you make. The way you roll with almost anything. The way you only cry when you need something fixed (or when certain people hold you – still trying to figure out the common denominator there). The way your default setting always seems to be “happy.” You are – in every possible way – exactly who I needed in my life, who we needed in our family. I am so thankful you are ours.