Dear Christian,
I can hear you sleeping on the bed behind me making small snuffling sounds as you dream of … reaching all those exciting objects that seem just out of reach?
Month Five seems to have been primarily about mastering The Sit. Previously you liked being propped up in the supportive wing arms of the nursing pillow, but as soon as you sat fully up, the weight of your head would sag forward. And then apparently without any struggle at all, your head would continue to sink forward until your forehead was resting on the bed between your knees – in a beautiful head to knees sandwich that would make Bikram Choudhury proud. Only once your head reached that final resting position would you begin to emit muffled yelling and start flailing your arms.
But on that magical day you turned Five Months old you sat up erect and your head remained balanced right there in the air and you looked around proudly – and momentarily – before you toppled over. And most of that month I was chided for not providing enough pillows for your frequent face plants. Your dad would come to your rescue, “What’s your mom done to you my boy?”
That is, of course, now in the past. You sit up as well as the Gerber baby these days and survey the room and the toys your humble parents have laid out before you. You rarely hesitate before making your lunge – whether it be for Sophie, your French giraffe, your wooden teething ring, or one of the jingling wooden delights from your Sue Emo. The intent, is what what propels you forward, however ungainly.
I suppose it’s the same for all of us; we see what we want, and without knowing exactly how or what to do, we lurch forward in uncoordinated spasms towards our goal.
You’ll get there soon enough. For the moment though, your front tires have more traction than your back tires – and once you are on your stomach with a toy in front of you, you are more likely to inch farther and farther away from your desired goal than to ever reach it. Poor guy. The more you want a toy the more quickly it recedes into the horizon, your strong arms pushing you farther and farther away. You might push yourself backwards completely to the other end of the hallway if I didn’t worry about your tummy catching a chill on the laminate flooring.
And you remain a charmingly social boy, ready to grin widely at any person who pauses to smile at you or chuck you under the chin. If your DAD enters the room, that dimpled grin nearly splits your face as you jump up and down as much as you are able, while making your excited sounds, which involve making as much racket as possible on a long intake of breath.
No teeth yet, but we’re good with that. We love the way your toothless chuckle collapses that bottom half of your face to just an inch of sweet smile between your chin and nose. It reminds me sometimes of a man I once watched outside a bar in Madrid. He was little and wizened. He would take out his teeth and without them, the plasticity of his face was astounding. The distance between his nose and chin, to my amazed eyes, all but disappeared. He looked like a man whose face ended at his nose. I almost want to say that he could also pull his lower lip up over his nose, but I’m afraid I’d be accused of exaggeration. Luckily this man had a cheerful disposition and danced and chuckled while making his mouth go away otherwise we might have been too horrified to remember to leave a handful of change.
We love you Baby, and we’re glad you came to live with us!
Love,
Mama
P.S. All photos of the dude(s) are by Steph Fowler at StephFowlerPhotography.com. I suggest you visit her website or her photoblog; it will improve your day! Click on any photo…
