Five Months Old. Now With Added Holiness!

My favorite little boy,

Happy five months, slugger. Five months is huge. And you are huge- in size, in moxy, and in smiles for days. Here’s what we know (and appreciate/fear/respect) about you:

You have impeccable timing. This is very good. This is also very, very bad. Like the other day before your baptism, when I knew you had yet to poop (for close to 48 hours) yet I chose to dress you in your adorable yet rather thin seersucker suit and headed to the church. The priest had told us that he’d approach us in the front pew, ask some questions of the parents and godparents, bless you, and then start the mass. Then after a bit we’d all go up for the actual baptism. Awesome! However. The moment before the priest came over for the questions and blessing, you- standing on your Dad’s lap- filled your diaper. And filled your diaper. And filled your diaper. (Your Dad, for the record, looked like he was being held up at gunpoint.) So we all stood together, brightly answered some questions, and made darned sure not to touch anywhere near your pants or diaper area. After that, I carefully- and very, very publicly- walked you to the back of the church for a change. And the eyes, OH THE EYES upon us. You think you’re pretty hilarious, don’t you? Well. Even though you had slightly leaked through, I got the last laugh (hahahahaha) as I rapidly changed you, dealt with as much of the mess as I could, MacGyver’d the rest, and made it back to our (oh-so public) front pew before the homily. Made room for the Holy Spirit, didja? Well played.

Everything is totally cool. Always. Even when you’re being dunked in the bath with two over-eager siblings, your momentary look of concern/terror makes way for a grateful beam that the two Big Ones are looking at you and answering your baby gibberish with their own. Your fist bangs on the tray for moremoremore oatmeal at dinner, and in between your shark-like faceplanting, the pleased smiles let us know that this is the best meal you’ve ever tasted. Strapped in to the Baby Bjorn or stroller or car seat for yet another activity of your sisters’? THANK YOU, you seem to say, Yes, I would LOVE to go out of doors!

You are not slowing down for anybody. Last week’s jammies are already a tad snug at the toes. A hat I was certain would last ’til next Fall better get photo-op’d now, and fast. And that bitty tooth threatening to poke from your bottom gums? No amount of pleading during our early morning nursing sessions will reverse that action. But when I cry at/around you, buddy? It’s not you that’s making me sad, really it isn’t. It’s the knowledge that the passage of time doesn’t care that the way you fit into the crook of my arm is currently perfection. It won’t stop so I can take a sun-dappled afternoon nap with you while marveling at the softness of your slightly flushed cheeks and peaceful kitten snores. It’s also the certainty that this stage- already zooming by so quickly- will careen into the next stage, and the next, and the next, until you’re a grown guy with a paper route and a mortgage and plans to winter in Miami. So it’s not that I want you to remain a baby forever (although, my goodness, I could smell your freshly bathed and apricot-oiled self until the cows come home)- it’s that I want time with you forever. And to the best of my knowledge, no one has yet figured out that one.

So until they do, I’ll just be over here, occasionally (and randomly) tearing up at something you’re doing. Or not doing.  I’ll be laughing at those smiles and coos- the ones which are so desperate to become words. And I’ll be loving every single moment that we get together as Mom and Boy Kid.

Same as always.

Love you,

Mom

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