Month Five

Dear Maia,

Today you turn five months old, and honestly? seriously? it’s only been five months that you’ve been in our lives?  I find it hard to believe, because I truly cannot recall life before you.

Last month, you learned how to roll over onto your belly; this month, you’ve finally learned how to roll from belly to back.  This means that, if we turn our backs to you for any period of time, you’re likely to end up all the way on the other side of the room, kicking your feet and grinning mischievously at us.

But let me show you what else you can do:

Yes, that’s right, you are learning to crawl.  Already.  It seems as though you may skip over the “army crawl” or “scooting” phase altogether and just get straight on with the big girl stuff, up on hands and knees.  I must admit, I’m kind of scared of this, Maia.  You see, your mama does not like to clean, nor does your daddy, and having to clean multiple times per day just to be sure you’re not eating anything more harmful than dog kibbles is not something I’m looking forward to.

You’re also chatting a lot.  You have a great deal to say and are quite eager to say it, whether to us, your fursiblings, or your toys.  You’re beginning to experiment with consonant sounds, and one of your favourite things to babble these days is “mamamamamama”.  It makes my heart skip a beat when I hear you do this, and although your daddy insists that you cry “mama” when you’re upset, I’m fairly certain you are just making the only sound you really know how to.  The alternative, that he’s right, that you actually are crying out for me, is such a sweet thought that I can’t even wrap my mind around it.  The idea that you, my little love, my beautiful baby girl, my papaya, might understand that “mama” is me and that if you call for me, I will always come, is too grand for me to accept right now.  I don’t want to imagine you are saying it.  I want to know you are.

This month has also seen another amazing milestone: you have slept through the night three times.  THREE.  Now, I have no problem with you waking up and wanting to nurse, but I must admit that waking up panicked twice in the middle of the night because why isn’t my baby crying out for me? just to look over and see you sleeping has its own satisfactions — namely, that I get to fall back asleep and pretend I didn’t actually wake up.  Then, in the morning when you wake up and I pull you into bed to cuddle, we fall asleep together with me feeling pleased that I got seven hours of sleep in a row (even though, technically, I woke up during it).

However, at least three times, you’ve also woken up at a seemingly random time in the wee hours and decided that you would like to stay awake for awhile, thank you very much.  So I bring you out into the living room and you roll around on your blanket while babbling to me, and whilst you look absolutely adorable doing so, I feel cranky and wish we were sleeping.  I know that someday you’ll outgrow all this and I, being wistful, will look back on it and feel nostalgic.  I think.  Possibly I’ll be too busy dealing with whatever new trauma you are putting me through to remember, but either way, you are definitely trying to give me gray hairs.

You are still quite fond of sucking your hand and have little to no interest in a pacifier, although you will take one if we’re in the car.  On your right hand, you suck your thumb and forefinger together, and on your left, your middle and ring fingers.  Your pinkie is never part of the equation, which I figure means you either hate it or haven’t discovered it yet.  If it’s the former, I promise not to have it reconnected if you sever it; if it’s the latter, I imagine your pinkie will become your new BFF as soon as you realize it’s been there all this time, waiting, at the edge of your fist.

Speaking of your hands, the other day you stuck your thumb between your fore- and middle fingers, and I was suddenly reminded of how, when you were newly born (and not a grown-up five months old!) you always clenched your fists like that.  All I could do was smile and try to grasp the enormity of how much you’ve changed.

Earlier this month, you visited your uncle Sean again while your daddy and I went out for a movie.  Apparently you were absolutely miserable with him, screaming and crying so much that he thought you were hyperventilating.  Despite that, however, he still smiled and kissed you when you left and said he would love to babysit you any time.  He loves you, Maia, just like everyone does, and I can’t wait to see how you interact with your aunt and uncles as you grow up.

There is so much I could say about you.  There is so much I want to say about you, but there just aren’t words powerful enough to contain my thoughts.  I know, someday you’ll read this and roll your eyes, remembering how I’ve recently slighted you by not letting you do something you wanted to, nevermind that I probably had a really good reason for it.  Someday you’ll read this and think you don’t understand me Mom, you never have, and you never will!

And on that day I will just smile at you, my darling daughter, and think of how you don’t understand me.  You’ll forget all of these things we do together now, all the hours of playing, talking, and teaching one another about life.  You’ll forget nuzzling your head into my shoulder, or your daddy’s, eyes wide open as your hands grip us tightly and you just observe, learning.

But me? I won’t forget.  I won’t, because I write to remember every moment of your life that I can.  You are our world, Maia, and I can only hope that we raise you well enough that someday, you understand that.

I love you,
Mama.

Tagged as: love, maia