six months.

six months of this guy.

I can’t believe it’s almost been six months of this guy.

he can sit up all by himself and he loves to play with toys.  he reaches to pick up things that interest him and he holds them up to his eyes and turns them around in his hands.  we spend hours in his room and I watch him picking up blocks, trains, rainbow stacking cups.  he likes to play with a bead toy, moving the beads up and down and spinning them around.  his special loves are his lion stuffed animal, which he loves to grab tufts of its mane and wrestle with, and his dolly.  she has crinkly shoes that he loves to rub and rings on her hat that he loves to shoe.  he loves his sock monkey and his ball.

he is so drooly and chompy.  he grabs my fingers and brings them to his mouth to nom on.  he likes to grab my face and hair and pull me in close for his big slobbery kisses.  he wraps his arms around my neck and squeezes me in the best hugs I have ever received.  he spends all day giggling and smiling and giving me and his sister heart-eyes.  he is a dreamboat hunk with tree trunk legs.  I call him my ham and cheese sandwich, my chuckles.

he has no interest in crawling.

he is so interested in whatever I’m eating, but he makes a face no matter what baby food he tries: sweet potatoes, carrots, bananas, peaches.  he loves cool whip.

he loves to coo and talk to his older girl cousins, and they love to give him kisses and hold him and stroke his soft blonde peach fuzz.

he has the softest hands and he runs them up and down my arms.  he still wants to hold my hand while he’s nursing.  when he’s fussy, bouncing on the yoga ball sends him straight to sleep.

he is so ticklish.  I pick him up and nuzzle his tummy and he squeals and giggles, he squirms when I nibble on his sides or tickle under his arms.  he loves it when his daddy picks him up and wrestles him.  he likes to put his fingers in my mouth when he’s nursing.

he has started waking up many times a night crying and I think it’s his teeth: he’s about to get some.  he went straight from o-3 month clothes to 9-12 month clothes and it’s hard to find pants that will fit his booty.

he likes to ride in the stroller when we go for walks or to the park.  his sister rides in the stroller in front of him, and he likes to pet her hair and touch her shirts.

he has his own room now, finally.  his sister got her big girl bed and now the crib is in his room.  he has a dresser and a rocking chair and it is super mario-themed.

he took a bath with his sister last night.  he loves to pat the water and kick his feet and he squeals with joy when his sister plays with him.

I cannot wait for him to wake up so I can give him his morning smooches.



I walk into her room and she turns around and shouts to her toys, “Go stuffed!!”

surrendering the day.

the thing that I have found about having two babies is most often, if I want our day to go smoothly, then I can’t go in with an agenda.  I just can’t.  babies don’t care about your agendas.  they aren’t bothered about making sure the floors are vacuumed or that house projects get finished.  and if I try to structure our day around accomplishing some task, then I’m shooting myself in the foot.  I’ll keep trying and trying to make it happen.  I’ll let the tv run for hours while I try to get one single load of laundry folded.  I’ll get frustrated and shout and stomp and cry…and so will my babies.  and I’ll end the day feeling unaccomplished and tired and anxious.

I think the trick might be to just surrender the day.  I don’t have an agenda on the best days we have together.  I wake up and let my babies tell me what they need.  I don’t try to get anything done.  I just sit with them on the floor and play my little pony for hours, or go for a surprise walk in the rain.  and we are all happy.  and there is space in our day for the babies to tell me what they need that day, and for me to give to them without frustration or resentment.

because what they need changes from day to day.  I love routine.  I stay up nights thinking if only I could come up with the perfect routine, there would be time for extra housework and there would be no tears…but it doesn’t really work that way.

sometimes, of course, things have to get done.  errands have to be run.  library books have to be returned.  groceries have to be bought.  but I need to remember that these days aren’t for me, but for them.  it’s not about what I want to get done.  it’s about giving them what they need.  if I can just remember to surrender the day.