1. That's what Gus said to me this morning, and I think I know what he means. I'm starting to feel lighter after last week's hellish-ness, less worried, more confident that somehow this is all going to work out just fine. I am starting to rise above my anxiety and hormonal neurosis (did I mention that I started my cycle again last week, six months to the day after Will's birth?). I have just remembered that there is a light at the end of this tunnel, though sometimes I can't see it.
2. Tomorrow is my first visit with a psychologist, which I am looking forward to. After deciding three months ago that I might be having problems with depression, anxiety, or both, I finally made an appointment. It was hard to make myself pick up the phone and it's going to be hard to admit that I am struggling to a woman I have never met. But I do not like the person I am becoming in the midst of all this inner turmoil.
3. Will is sick. Again. The poor child cannot breathe through his nose, which he finds distressing. Several times last night one of us would get him settled only to hear him crying hysterically fifteen minutes later. When picked up, he makes this horrible noise that sounds like someone coughing and vomiting simultaneously, like someone choking to death on mucous. I see a lot of saline and Vicks Vapo-rub in my future.
4. Last night I added salmon to my normal quiche recipe. It was fabulous and has left me with all sorts of ideas about what to add to my quiche next. Lobster! Crab! Italian sausage! Bacon! Squirrel!
5. Will turned six months old last week. He can sit up unassisted, and has started to develop opinions about when and where he will sit and which toys he will play with.
The jingly butterfly toy? Awesome.
Newspaper? Awesome and sort of edible.
The buckles on the baby seat? Way cool.
The fuzzy blue elephant rattle? Lame. Will gave it a big fat thumbs down and then tossed it out of his sight.
He continues to adore his big brother, and has really started to love bathtime. He gets excited when he hears the water running, and he cannot stuff the washcloths into his mouth fast enough. The cat and dogs also fascinate him. It's as if he sees them and thinks, "who are these furry people? Why do they lick my face and hands?" The cat loves Will because he is now eating baby food. If you are a fat, orange, lazy tabby living in this household, pureed baby fruit is like manna from heaven. Seriously.
My Sweet Will laughs all the time, sometimes for no reason except sheer happiness. When I look at him, he catches my eye and giggles this nerdy little staccato giggle that makes me want to eat him whole. He is the most consistently happy person in our house, even when he feels crappity.
At his check-up, Will weighed in at eighteen pounds--a full ten pounds heavier than the day he was born. I used to lay him all curled up on my belly and think that he could still fit back in the womb. But now when I lay him on me he sprawls all over, all legs and arms and fat delicious cheeks. He sleeps in our bed, one hand usually resting on whichever part of me is closest. I lay next to him at night and smell his baby head and wish that I could freeze time and keep him six months old forever.
Asleep, Will is a study in perfect contentment untainted by fear. He has developed a habit of sleeping on his side with his thumb tucked neatly into his mouth. While he sucks his thumb, he uses his other hand to rub whatever pillowcase he can reach. In this Will is very like his brother, who still falls asleep every night running his fingers over and over the ridges on a crocheted blanket. 
My baby is perfect, a whole half-a-year old. And I still can't stop kissing his cheeks.
Recent Comments