Dear Molly,
Yesterday you turned six months old and I was not prepared for it. You woke up in your usual way, cooing softly from your room, waiting patiently for your bottle. When I leaned over the crib you greeted me with your usual gummy grin – the one that bursts across your sweet face like a firecracker – and I smiled back because you were, as always, happy. Yet as I looked down at you, those two bottom teeth beaming up at me, my heart ached. I wasn’t ready for July 28th; I wasn’t ready for you to be half a year old.
I wasn’t ready for January 28th either. I mean, sure, it was the date of our scheduled c-section – your scheduled birthday – and we’d had nine busy months to prepare. But I suppose like many parents, I expected to be bringing home a mini-Savannah – a tiny clone of your big sister. And then out you came, all calm and mellow, so very different from what I imagined.
So perfect. So you.
You. What were my days like before your dinosaur grunts and goofy grins? How did I make it one day without kissing that beautiful bald head? You, with your warm demeanor and easygoing personality, give this family something we desperately need. You slow us down and soften us; you give us peace.
The way your feet flail every time Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” comes on the radio; the way you inhale sweet potatoes and zucchini; the way you nestle your nose into my neck when I sing “You Are My Sunshine;” the way you laugh – deep, strong belly laughs – every time your sister makes silly faces. All of these things remind us to quit taking life so seriously and, oh, we are so thankful for that reminder.
I wasn’t ready for six months and I probably won’t be ready for the rest of your milestones. But you will be, Molly.
And that’s all that matters.
Love … Mommy
Leave a Reply