This past month has been one of discovery for you. You touch and eat EVERYTHING you see! You’ve spent every waking hour picking things up, briefly examining them, then shoving them into your mouth. There’s not an object in this world that you feel is off-limits to your grabbing and eating, but I think your favorite thing to snack on is your feet. If I put shoes and socks on you, you’ll grab them and pull and struggle until you get those wretched things off! You don’t even have to free both feet, as long as you have at least one set of toes to suck on, you’re happy. There was a time when your hands were your favorite, but that was SO two months ago. You’ve moved on to bigger, better things now. Hands? Hands are totally for babies.
If you’re not assaulting something with your mouth, you’re scratching it with your little fingertips. This is usually done when your mouth is already full or if, after several attempts, you realize that the object is too darn big to fit in there. You scratch daddy’s arm, you scratch the couch, you scratch your crib mattress, you scratch the walls, you scratch the stroller. It’s just another way you are learning about and familiarizing yourself with the things around you.
You’ve been very interested in food for quite sometime now, and this past month we finally introduced you to rice cereal. The first few times I fed you, we both ended up covered in the goo, but now we’ve finally reached a point where the input is greater than the output. You think eating real food is pretty amazing, and if I dare set food out for your dad and I without having a bowl of cereal ready for you, there are definitely consequences. I know you don’t understand this right now, but there are all sorts of foods out there that are even better than rice cereal. I can’t wait for the day that I can show you the deliciousness of things like powdered donuts and butterscotch pudding.
This month you’ve learned to reach for things, which is unfortunate because you haven’t quite mastered the whole balancing thing yet. Most of your attempts to reach out and grab something end in a face-plant. Surprisingly, this doesn’t seem to bother you too much. In fact, you can remain lying with your face mashed into the couch cushions or glued to the carpet for quite sometime before you announce any sort of discomfort. Even still, we’re really starting to work on your balance. I’ll sit you up and hold you steady for a few seconds, then I’ll pull my hands away and watch. Often, you’ll sit there just fine until you realize you’re doing it all by yourself and then suddenly it’s like someone walks up and shoves you over.
Something you have perfected this month is ATTITUDE. You’ve suddenly become fussy, dramatic and very opinionated. I had no idea you would be so innately female. Or maybe it’s the combination of your dad’s stubborn DNA with my even more stubborn DNA. Whatever is to blame, I’m cursing it. The mood swings you have rival the ones I had when I was pregnant. When you’re mad you don’t cry, you SCREAM. A very loud, angry scream. If that doesn’t get you what you want, you start pinching and pulling hair. Luckily this doesn’t happen very often, but there have been a few times I’ve been tempted to set you out on the street in a cardboard box that reads: FREE KID. Although, to be fair to your new family, I think it should also say BEWARE: SHE BITES.
Morgan, there hasn’t been a single dull moment in these past six months, thanks to you. You have made my life so complex and crazy and beautiful. Just when I think there couldn’t possibly be any room left in my heart, you snuggle up to me and bury your face in my neck and my heart can’t help but grow a little more. Sometimes I’m worried that my body won’t be able to contain all the love I have for you and one day I might just spontaneously explode. And it’s not only me you’ve affected in such a positive way. I’m not sure how to explain it except to say that to know you is to fall hopelessly and completely head over heels in love with you.
Oh, and that part about sending you with a new family? Not a chance, baby girl. They’d have to pry you from my cold, dead hands. And even then, I’d haunt them relentlessly. You’re my screaming, biting, hair-pulling baby!