Letter to Oscar–Month Six

We are at the halfway mark, halfway until the clock strikes one year. It has been six months since your papa stopped me as I walked out the door on the way to the hospital. Stopped me for one last kiss, because we would leave as two and return as three.

You were a little pea in my pod last winter, and I’ll never forget those hushed and snowy days when I held you in my belly and we communicated in the language only a mother and her unborn baby know, the language of touch and sound. But as hard as I try, I cannot remember the last time I felt you moving inside me.  That makes me a little sad.

It’s kind of ridiculous, I mean, you’re not gone. You’re right here at my feet pulling books off the shelf and shouting gleefully as you fling them to the far corners of the room.

All along during my pregnancy I planned on having a special moment to say goodbye to you, to that special closeness we would never share again. We went everywhere together, and we were one and the same for such a brief period. I assumed I would have a long labor, and it would take me a long time to push you out. It all happened so fast, the hospital, the bright lights, and then you were literally severed from me, and each day we are separated a little bit more.

First, your belly button healed and that last little bit of your umbilical cord fell off. Now you are beginning to eat solid foods, and eventually you will no longer need my milk. Each of these is a happy milestone and a victory of sorts. That’s what life is, we have to leave the ones we love: to explore, to walk, to go to school, to make new friends, to become parents ourselves. Time doesn’t stop, and I don’t think we’d want it to.

At six months you are really coming into your personality. You are on the go, not crawling yet but that doesn’t stop you. You love to talk to the stuffed animals in your crib. You also love to rearrange and redecorate every space you occupy. In that way you take after both of your grandmas. You like to shake your sippy cup joyously, watching and listening to the sloshing water. You like to feed yourself, thank you very much. You also suffer from food envy, just like your mama. What you’re eating is good, but what somebody else is eating looks much more exciting. You prefer the remote control, the phone, Mama’s shoes, and Papa’s CD collection to any of your toys. You like to spend time alphabetizing your DVDs. You join in the conversation and you laugh at Mama’s jokes, even if Papa doesn’t think they’re funny. My favorite time is when we bring you to bed in the morning and you roll over from one side to the other, grabbing each of our noses and squealing with delight., as if to say, “There you are, I’m so glad you’re still here this morning. What are we going to do today?” We are delighted with you, our little boy, and are so glad you chose us to be your parents.

Love, Mama

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