A week ago you turned six months old. That means you're a half year old. That means you've been roaming this earth for 190 days.
Holy shit, kid. We're making it. We're doing this kid/parent thing, you and I.
I skipped your five month post entirely because for the past month I've been trying to tear you away from your reflection in the mirror. Dude. You love looking at yourself in the mirror. You even do this thing where you act like you're flirting with yourself a little. Like you're all "Haaaaaaay" to the mirrored you. And the mirrored you is all "Haaaaaaaaay" and then you both nuzzle your head into my shoulder because it's all just too much.
Here's a shitty picture of you admiring yourself:
So many things to say, where can I even begin? It's like somewhere along the lines of this last month I turned around and there was this little miniature man sitting there smiling at me, almost as if to say, "Well hello, mother. I've thoroughly enjoyed my time here thus far, and wish you nothing but well wishes and rainbows as you continue on this journey of wiping my ass." But you would have said that with a British accent, obvs.
As we speak you are passed out on the bed next to me, with your arms spread as far as they can possibly go, and you're snoring like a mo fo.
Yes, you snore just like your dad. But you also do other things. You role over constantly, you can stand with support, you're on the brink of crawling and you smile ALL. THE. TIME.
|Dude that hat is miniature on your huge head.|
|You really smile with your eyes. I dig it.|
And you laugh. And it's basically the best sound EVER:
You also do this weird thing where you try to eat my chin sometimes, but we won't go there.
You're such a happy baby, Si. I really can't get over it. They say the "powers that be" only give you what you can handle, and obviously THOSE POWERS have absolutely no faith in me whatsoever, because as far as babies go, I truly think you've been a total cake walk. I don't think I'm just saying that because you're MY kid, either. I've tried to strip my rose colored GAGA glasses off and look at this objectively and I've come to the conclusion that you really just kick a lot of "awesome happy baby kid" ass. Thanks for going easy on me.
Last week your general managers were in town for your baptism. They love you so much, it's weird. Your GM1 says you make her uterus hurt just looking at you.
|Dude OMG your GM's are so freaking hot.|
One GM makes you laugh and the other makes you cuddle.
This, of course, is the exact reason that I picked them for you:
|She bought this for you just to annoy me.|
|She said you can cuddle with it when she's not around.|
The fanfare that was your baptism could have actually rivaled the second coming of Christ. All your aunts, uncles and grandparents on my side showed up, and your grampa and grandma from Alaska came too! This was the first time they'd ever met you and it was so fun to introduce you to them. Your Gramma K. says you look just like your daddy when he was little.
I just don't see it. (That's what we call SARCASM. More on that later.)
What else can I say, kid? I'm glad you're here. You put joy in my life when previously all I really think I had was a whole lot of fun. Shit is different with you around, and sometimes it's harder, and there have definitely been sacrifices, but even with all that taken in to consideration the one thing I can confidently say about my life since you've come along is this:
Thank you for that.