Baby girl, you are half a year old today. It’s the winter solstice tonight. You’ve made it to the dark side of your first year.
You’ve taken up a new pastime: toe chewing. Only when you’re having your diaper changed, though – otherwise, toe pulling will suffice. You also like to pull on other people’s lips, beards, and noses, and you squeal like a banshee when we kiss your armpits. The belly to back roll is old news by now, and you’ve even managed one back to belly roll. I think your hair is finally growing, too – not that you have any more hairs as far as numbers go, but the ones you started out with are definitely longer than they used to be.
Your daddy is still your favorite person in the WHOLE WORLD. Like, by a lot. Despite the fact that I get up on average five times a night to feed you, change you, sing to you… in general, to swaddle you with my love until you fall gently back to sleep, despite dizzying, toe-stubbing, door-frame-bumping sleep deprivation. I thought at least the breastfeeding would give me a leg up. But, you know, I’m not jealous or anything. I’m not, actually. I love watching you and your daddy play. He can coax this hilarious, gasping, honking laugh from you. Punctuated with squeals. So great.
In short, I love the crap out of you. You are just the most perfect thing. Like, my heart explodes and I get a lump in my throat and I JUST CAN’T BELIEVE how lucky I am when I look at you. Thanks for an amazing half year, solstice baby. Junebug. Nipper. Junip.