HAPPY HALF BIRTHDAY, LITTLE M

Ha! Caught you sleeping.

Six months (and 3 days—I’m a little behind, as usual) ago I was hanging out at home lamenting the fact that you were doing things backwards. Your amniotic sac had broken, but you weren’t budging. It wasn’t a sign that you were stubborn—you’re just different. You’re relaxed and chill, and you go with the flow, but you know what you want. You wanted to stay for just a little while longer.

Maybe it’s because you’re such a snuggler. You were warm and cozy in there, and you weren’t ready to come out into the big, cold world. But you’re considerate; you made your entrance pretty quickly once things got painful. Thanks for sparing me the intense agony.

When I first saw you, I was surprised at how light your hair was. You looked nothing like your brother. As much as I compare you to your brother—I’m sorry, I don’t mean to, but he was just all I knew when it came to babies—you are completely unique.


You’re sweet. I mean, all babies are sweet, but you are really, really sweet. People comment on it all the time. They even said it when you were a newborn, when all newborns are sweet. You’re exceptionally so. I love how you snuggle and rub your head on my shoulder, or rest your cheek against mine. You hold my hand while I nurse you. That’s sweet.

You have trouble going to sleep, but if I’ve recently nursed you, all you want is for me to lie next to you. Once you know I’m snuggling with you, you drift off. That’s sweet.

In your first two months, you slept. A lot. And you were a little fussy when you were awake. But at least you let me get some rest. And then things just switched. You were awake all the time—even all night—but you became the happiest baby ever. You used to sigh and coo. Now you babble and squeal. You’ve said “mama” more than once, and people have commented on it. I know that’s not really what you’re saying, but I’m going to pretend it is.

You love people. When they talk, you smile at them. You love conversation, especially when it’s directed toward you. You crack up whenever you see the dog or the cat, squealing, smiling, and waving your arms and legs. You are the most ticklish person I have ever encountered. Even when you’re almost completely asleep and nursing in my arms, if I so much as rest my hand on your belly, you smile and hold back a giggle. I’m sorry, but you’re just asking for me to tickle you during those times. It’s sweet.

You want to keep up with your brother. You watch what he’s doing and try to play with his toys. You don’t get bent out of shape when he tears his toys from your tight grip and yells, “Mine!” You’re also a pretty good sport when he jumps on your back as you’re trying to crawl. All you want to do is follow him, and you were rolling over at 2 months old and almost crawling at 5 so you could hang out with him. He played peekaboo with you today, and it was possibly the cutest thing ever. You love him, and he loves you. He tells me all the time.

You don’t sit up yet. I can’t get you to sit still long enough to practice sitting up. You would rather crawl. We call you “twitch” lately because you don’t stop moving. You like to stand up, and I’m afraid you’ll be walking in a couple of months. Which wouldn’t be so bad, but newborn babies aren’t supposed to walk. And I’m afraid I’m going to envision you as my little newborn even as you’re getting your diploma or walking down the aisle.

I really love you, Little M. It’s a deep love, like I’ve known you all my life, and I can’t imagine my life without you. It didn’t hit me with overwhelming power, but it was just there. Strong and real and profound.

And now you’ve woken up for the third time in an hour and a half, and I’m going to crawl into bed with you. Maybe one of these nights you’ll let me finish a sentence. Or maybe not. It’s a good thing you’re so sweet. And that your crib next to the bed is handy for holding my glasses and water bottle while we snuggle together in bed.