You are six months old today. Do you know what that means? It means I haven't slept through the night in six months. That's half of a year. Half of an entire year. Can you understand that? I can't.
But about you: you are fabulous. Super-fabulous. I brought you to Grandpa's office, and I'm not exaggerating when I tell you that 8 adults were crowded into one small office, everyone cooing over you. You were you regular happy, grinning, flirty self and you charmed everyone. I am always bursting with pride because wherever we go people cannot get over what a happy, happy baby you are. My Nanny would have called you "delicious." You are.
You started sitting up in the last few days, and today you even managed to right yourself when you started to fall over. I cheer and clap and squeal when you sit up, and you give me one of your squinty-eyed nose-crinkling smiles. I love that smile.
Your need to roll over at every opportunity continues, as does your hatred of being on your tummy. It's perplexing. Also perplexing is your distinct love of sucking, your desire to suck on anything around including my thumbs, your toys, and your toes; everything except the thumbs and fingers that are so readily available to you.
Why do I care what you suck on? Selfish motivation, I admit. As soon as I know you can comfort yourself by sucking on your thumb or fingers, I'm cutting off the night feedings. I can't bear to do it thinking of you crying alone in the dark; at least if you can suck your thumb I know you can help get yourself back to sleep. It's no more complicated than that.
You are the sweetest thing, Jack. When you wake up from your naps and I lift you out of your crib, you put both arms around my neck, grab hold of my hair or my shirt, and pull your face into my neck. Sometimes when you see me you do a little gasp of joy and then grin and grin, and it fills my heart. I give you at least 100 kisses a day, and you smile at each one. I absolutely can't get over you.
As much as I love you, you love your brother. He is your favorite person on earth. You can't do anything but grin at him when you see him, and you could watch him run around all day. He can make you laugh more than anyone else can; your favorite comedic routine is when he slaps his own head and yells "bonk!" You can't get enough.
Last night Daddy, Nate and I went out to dinner to celebrate Aunt Deborah's birthday, and we left you at home with a babysitter. In general, I'm thrilled to leave my kids at night and get away. It certainly made the whole evening easier that you weren't there. But I shocked myself by missing you the whole time. It felt like someone was missing.
You might find out one day that I had hoped to have a little girl, and was disappointed to find out that you were, in fact, another little boy. I admit that that's true. But Jack, I swear this to you: I don't wish you were anybody else than who you are. I can't imagine life without you.
I love you,