Half

Dear Greer –

Yesterday you turned six months old. This milestone seemed to take forever to reach for your brother and sister. The months felt so long then. Now they are flying by like we’re on the time warp train to your graduation.

You are happily crawling around these days. It started a couple of weeks ago with the adorable rocking on your hands and knees and graduated into this modified army crawl to rocking to sky-diving move that you repeat thousands of times a day. It is no wonder you are taking such great naps.

You love toys that aren’t toys – especially dive bombing out of my arms for remote controls, cell phones, computers, i-pads and the like. Your brother did this exact same thing and we eventually just gave him his own remote, but in an effort to de-clutter our life, I’ve rid our home of all the extra remotes years ago and now you have no option but to use the one that has efficacy for actual electronic devices. It’s fantastically entertaining when you change a channel and the older ones loose their minds about it. You’ll be good at causing disturbances like this for years to come, I am sure.

All sixteen pounds of you are happily sporting a 12 month dress today that has an embellishment around the neck. You find that extra bit of fabric and chew and suck on it until it is disgusting. You’re the drooliest of the three and it is adorable to see your little bib of saliva on your outfits each day. Soon some tiny chompers will bust through your bottom gums, that are white with anticipation. That day will have much rejoicing.

You sleep well, but not always. You like baby oatmeal, but not prunes or bananas. You love nursing, but not if you can hear something interesting going on nearby. You love raspberries or zerberts or whatever people call them these days, placed anywhere on your super white deliciously soft skin. They almost always make you laugh, though not much else does.

I assume you are doing what everyone in the plains does and wish you could say ‘funny’ when something funny is happening instead of laughing. Actual laughter is reserved for things that are hilarious.

You spit bubbles out of your mouth when you want to sleep, pursing your lips and letting them string out and down your chin until I walk into a darkened room for you to be laid down in a crib with a fan humming nearby. You hum when milk doesn’t come down fast enough. You say MMMMmmmm, MMMmmmm, MMMmmmm when you want to eat. You’d rather explore on your own than be held and will alligator roll to get out of my arms. You’ve stopped rolling when I change you when I say No, No sternly. The first time I did it, you cried and your tiny feelings were sorely hurt, but now you smile and lay still and I am hoping your are so easily corrected until that time warp train stops seventeen and half years from now.