My dearest Wesito:
Finally at 6 months you got to enjoy a proper autumn day, step outside in hat and socks, and feel the wind all around you. You aren’t going down any slides just yet, but you loved standing at the top of one, holding all of its promise before you:
These days I can’t decide if I am more anxiously awaiting those fun toddler days ahead of you or desperately missing your infant days of yesterday, days you’d still sleep in our arms instead of wriggling out of them. I think instead I will be happy with todays, even if you grow more independent every day, happier with working out hand to mouth mechanics than being handed things outright, reaching for whatever is in sight and bending your body accordingly, eager to put everything — and I mean EVERYTHING — in that little mouth of yours:
Besides, you sleep better at 6 months than you did at 6 weeks (for the most part), drifting off to sleep on your own while curling your monkey toes, those ridiculously long toes inherited from your father, around a crib slat or two. And with some practice, you can now give all those standing babies a run for their money, aided by your daddy’s firm hand planted safely on your butt:
When I see you standing, you look so incredibly tall. You ARE so tall!
Yes, the todays are to die for. You are a chatterbox, going around goo-gooing and ga-gaing all over town. I’m convinced you ask for “more” at mealtimes and you even said “mama” the other day, though it’s true you didn’t have a clue what you were saying. Heck, you said it while in another woman’s arms (Marci, you lucky dog, you). But I know that one day soon just around the corner you’ll be saying it to me. What a dream.
All my love forever and forever,