Dear Lewis: a letter at six months


Baby Lew. Lewbis. Lewlabee Jones. Lewper Lumperdink. Butterball. Muffin. Mister. Baber.

You are six months old, and you are an absolute delight. This month, you suddenly feel so old to me. When I put you on your stomach, and put one of your favorite toys just out of reach, you squirm your body like a worm, and sometimes scoot yourself a couple of inches towards the object of your desire – the rattle grippy ball, the blue chewy hand toy your Grandma Pam got you for Christmas. You still haven’t rolled over yet, but you are getting closer every day. And you got your first teeth – the two on the bottom. One is all the way through, and the other just popped through the other night, praise Jesus. You weighed in at 19 pounds, 13 ounces at your recent doctor’s appointment, and you are easily wearing 9-12 month clothes. Basically, you’re responsible for the constant tightness in my back from lugging you around – you’re enormous.

You smile and laugh so easily now. And while you still frequently give us your low-pitched huuuu laugh, you sometimes give us more kid-sounding laughs too, hiccuping in between. You constantly make raspberry sounds, blowing bubbles, soaking you and anything near you, and we wonder what you’re trying to tell us.

This month, we busted out the baby gear, and you had your first stints in the exersaucer and doorway jumper seat. Your first afternoon in the exersaucer, Owen and Elsa spun you around and around like it was a carnival ride, and for days after, we kept finding Elsa sitting in there, eating snacks, drinking juice. And the jumper. You love it. The first time we put you in there, you made these low-pitched grunting sounds, so clearly pleased with yourself, like you knew you looked like a big boy in it. Within a day or so, you had gotten the hang of bouncing in it, getting your chubby little feet off the ground. You love it, and we have to work hard to keep Elsa from under-dogging you into the doorframe. You also had your first sled ride – both around the pond, and down a hill, the latter wrapped in your dad’s arm. You were dressed in a light blue snowsuit, and looked like a light blue marshmallow, but each time I looked back at you on our walk, you were smiling.

You got legitimately sick this month, along with your siblings, and had a deep, barking cough for weeks, an eye infection, and just general baby sadness. We held you constantly, and you woke us up about 4 times a night for a week or so. It was honestly miserable. You have this way of looking at us, with your lower lip turned out that is just. so. sad. That, along with the teeth popping through, made for a rough month. But I’m hoping we’re through the worst of it as we head into Christmas.

Last night, we celebrated our first Christmas with you. You got a banana teething toy and a board book with beautiful photographs of animals. You seemed happy – like you could pick up on the over-the-top excitement of your siblings, and mostly you tried to eat the wrapping paper. You stick everything in your mouth, and you’ve gotten to that grabby phase, knocking over water glasses, grabbing Elsa’s hair – anything within your T-Rex arm reach, you are grabbing and immediately pulling into your mouth. Your dad calls you handsy, and it makes me laugh every time.

You are still nursing exclusively, though I think in the next few weeks, we’ll foray into foods. For now, you look up at me and smile your little huuu laugh, and then attack the milk viscously, then arch your body around to see Owen and Elsa and all the noise they bring. You are easily distracted. Except at nights. I sit in my bed and nurse you to sleep. I know better, but I can’t help it. You are so peaceful and still, your little chubby hand resting on my chest, sometimes reaching up to hold my face. I love it. I already know how much I’ll miss those quiet moments.

Christmas always makes me think about Mother Mary and Baby Jesus. I look at you, your squishy little body, squirming with delight, or both hands jammed in your mouth as you sleep, and I think about how Mary probably looked down at Jesus the same way, wondering at his innocence, yet knowing all of the prophecies of suffering to come. I admire her for letting go, and I wonder if it was hard for her. I think about you and how I would do anything to keep you happy, to keep you from harm, and I close my eyes, and take deep breaths, and ask that same Jesus to carry you, and Owen, and Elsa, all the days of your lives.

I love you, Lewis. I’m so glad you’re mine.



Things you love: baths, being naked, bouncing in your bouncy seat and jumper chair, chewing on things, Owen, Elsa, peek-a-book, the Ergo, driving in the carseat (to a point), being pulled in the sled. your crinkly black and white book, the exersaucer, videos, dancing with your dad, when your dad comes home, anything Owen does and says, kicking your legs and bouncing like crazy in your bouncy chair

Things you hate: being put down to sleep, teeth coming in, waiting while I get Owen and Elsa dressed to go outside (you cry every time, so tired of waiting)

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