Jasper, my impossibly grownup little baby-
Happy six months, slugger.
How have you been here for half a year already? I can’t believe how quickly you’ve morphed from a snoozing and cooing sweet potato into a grasping and scooting Boy Child. (Even allowing for the temporary breaks from sanity which occurred during that disturbing winter, these months went kinda fast.)
My little Roo- my last small papoose- I am so aware of the fact that every new milestone with you marks a kind of milestone for me, too. Your first wormlike attempts at crawling are my farewell to a kid content to loll in the crook of my arm. And each new food you smush into your nostrils is a peace sign out to a small person being one thousand percent dependent on me.
As the third kid in a household of Very Present People, I sometimes fear that you’re getting the short end of the attention stick or the one-on-one time stick., not to mention the solo bathtime stick. (That’s a nice little pile of kindling you’ve got there, pal.) But even when it seems like there’s no one in the world making eye contact with you, listening to your wails, or picking you up as soon as you deem it necessary, I need you to know this:
You are so loved.
Your sisters adore you so hard and fierce (and fast and loose) that you can barely offer up a questioning gurgle before someone has shoved a teething ring in your mouth or wrapped a blankie around your foot.
Your Dad thinks you hung the moon, especially when you grunt and chuckle and commiserate with him like a tiny and amused little man.
Your fan club- which numbers grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and far flung friends around the globe- clamor for photos featuring that impish smile, those old soul eyes and sure, maybe a few painfully adorable outfits.
And as for me? Well, I told you this the other night- as you were falling asleep on my lap and I was doing my darndest to keep your sprouting legs from hanging over the arm of the rocking chair- but I’ll say it again here for posterity: I love being with you so much, my baby boy.
Even though I get caught up in the daily chaos of our home, even though 24/7 awareness is a myth (and an impossibility), and even though there will never be enough time to appreciate and acknowledge each stage before flinging ourselves into the next…you and I do have our quiet moments together. Our sacred bedtime routines. And not an evening has passed where I haven’t kissed your sleeping head and whispered how much I’ll always love you.
Sure, it’s a far cry from Making Every Moment Count, but I want you to understand that these fleeting times with you are etched into my mind as the happy thoughts I’ll call up when you’re off doing the impressive things I know you have in store. (Like walking. Manning archaeological digs. Accepting Nobel Peace Prizes. Stuff like that.)
Because it’s true. And no matter how tall you get, you’ll always be my little guy.
And I’ll always be so very grateful.
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