a girl, a guy, a tomato, a bean, and a bear

Thursday, January 15, 2009

Six months old today!!!

Dearest Evelyn,

Can you believe it? You’re six months old today. I can scarcely believe the time has gone so quickly. There were nights in there I thought would never end, but looking back on it all, it seems a blur. I try to keep notes of your developments so that it’s easier to write each letter to you, and as I look back at this month, I’m amazed by your progress. Each month to this point has had milestones of course, but somehow you’ve kicked it into overdrive. I don’t think I’ll come anywhere close to capturing all that’s gone on this month, and if I’m already at this point, what hope is there from here on out?? I’ll just have to do my best to capture as many noteworthy developments and then ask you to take all that I’ve described, and then square it.

This month you’ve really discovered your tongue. The ferocity with which you explore its capabilities was almost alarming at first. I must admit that I had a brief moment when I imagined all the clicking and sputtering you suddenly began doing might be some kind of allergic reaction. I would categorize its activity roughly as the equivalent of interpretive dancing. For being rooted in your mouth, it is the most expressive, playful, and devious little body part. You amuse yourself by blowing raspberries for minutes on end and use it as a means to attract attention. This is yet another reason I wish your father were here—I am sure he would take up the mantel of blowing raspberries right back at you…personally I hate the way the vibrations make my tongue and lips feel. I love you so much, I give myself the heebie jeebies returning your raspberry so that your tongue communication will not go unreciprocated.

About the same time that your tongue kicked into overdrive, you also began slapping your hand on any surface within reach. Counter tops, the exersaucer, you name it. Preferably the surface is a hard one, because the noise is much more satisfying, you’ve observed. The papers on my desk are no longer safe when you sit in my lap. You are deeply intrigued by all things paper, and are desperate to get a glimpse of what magazine ink tastes like. Thus far, I have thwarted your attempts.

You began solid foods this month—so far you regularly consume rice cereal and on occasion have tried bananas and applesauce. The rice cereal is a major hit; the fruits so far are still a bit foreign. You like to assist me bringing the spoon to your mouth. When I use the spoon to try and scrape spilled contents from off your chin or cheeks you look at me as if I’ve been hitting the bottle. “Silly Mommy…that’s not my mouth. You’re not even close.” You then grab on and try to steady your poor “inebriated” mother back to the place where the spoon belongs.

You’ve made major strides with your attempts at sitting. Right before Christmas you had your first spill, face first into the carpet, not realizing that your arms where necessary in their tripod position as support. You now ride in the front of the shopping cart at the commissary instead of your infant carrier. This has been an exciting development, and you have the habit of trying to crane your neck and head backwards in order to see where we’re going.

You’re not crawling yet, but you’ve discovered that rolling over has the ability to offer more than just a new visual perspective. You’ve mastered the art of the double and triple roll, propelling yourself laterally a surprising distance. You sometimes do this purposefully in an attempt to reach an otherwise unattainable object. Other times, you roll simply for the joy of it, and are thrilled to find yourself off the blanket I have carefully spread for your play on the floor, which is so boringly free of puli and carpet hair, as well as dirt tracked in from outside.

If it is possible, Evelyn, you’re even cuter than last month. Your cheeks are so adorable and full; all the neighborhood squirrels are envious. They are reliably rosy. You’ve definitely got your father’s eyelashes—they are L-O-N-G and dark. You smile freely and widely. You actually have two smiles—one that is enough to light up a room, and another that should be classified as a clean source of alternate energy, capable of lighting entire city blocks. This nuclear smile makes your eyes dance with joy and I’m pretty sure I go temporarily blind from its brilliance—and you don’t even have any teeth yet!

You’re really engaged now when I read to you and you are a very observant listener. You watch my lips move when I talk as well, and are inextricably fond of the letter “k.” The letter “k” is hilarious.

You’ve also started actually playing with me. This is a hugely exciting milestone, and I can scarcely get enough of playing peek-a-boo. I think I may enjoy it even more than you, which is saying something. I throw a blanket over your head and ask “Where’s Evie?” You wiggle around momentarily while giggling in anticipation and then throw the blanket off your face with your hands with a smile that exclaims, “Here I am!”

Did I say take all I’ve describe and square it? I think it needs to be cubed, more like.

Evelyn, your father and I love you so much.




Anonymous said...

Michele, I loved the songs. That's you singing in the first one. Did you sing in the 3rd and 4th one, too? Great descriptions. Love the one about the squirrels. She must have big cheeks to store nute. miss you, Pam L. from school

screamy mimi said...

It's actually not me, but I love those songs. I do sing them to Evie, but in the video, the first one is sung by Elizabeth Mitchell and the third and fourth by Frances England.

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