6 Month Pook – A Letter to Charlie

Dear Charlie,

Tomorrow is a big day for us. We’re hitting the town – and you’re hanging with the sitter – to celebrate 6 whole months of preventing your demise! We’ve been in the trenches for months, and it seems we may have finally entered non-infant territory. You’re sort of like a little person now, which is both strange and amazing.

Here’s what’s up these days:

  1. You’re refining your fine motor skills, like pinching small objects and passing them from one hand to the other… which means your marshmallow-grabbing skills are improving. Yikes.
  2. You graduated from hammock to crib a few weeks ago, because I figured if you’re going to sleep like shit, it might as well be in your own room, right?
  3. On that note, last week you finally started sleeping longer than 2-hour stents at night (REJOICE)! Maybe it’s a lull in teething? Or your new ability to side sleep? We’re not questioning it. I feel like a new woman, and you’re way less grouchy.
  4. Your first two little teeth poked through on bottom. They’re sharp ones, designed perfectly to instill fear while nursing.img_9490
  5. We stopped solid foods for a while when you lost interest, but picked them back up last week. Now you can pound carrots and sweet potatoes like an Evansville Westsider can put down an Elephant Ear the first week of October (I’m including myself in this generalization). Bananas and avocado – and still oatmeal – make you gag. It’s very dramatic. I suspect it’s a texture thing, because if there’s any vegetable you’ve been subjected to via breastmilk and in utero, it’s (pounds and pounds of) avocados.img_3140img_3118
  6. There’s a certain caliber of diaper situation that comes along with the initiation of solid foods that only the unpredictable and disturbing bowel habits of a 15-year-old pug could have prepared us for. The Diaper Genie never knew what hit it.
  7. I assumed you would be advanced in all aspects of your life (and a genius baby, naturally), but you still haven’t rolled from back to front. Most of the time you just don’t care about trying, and on top of that you can’t seem to coordinate your upper and lower half to get that body rollin’. Could be the mass of your thighs.
  8. You. Are. Antsy. Your thighs may be rotund, but they can kick like the wind. If the wind kicked.
  9. Moose finally drew the line with how much Pook he’ll withstand. It’s somewhere between hair-pulling and trying to eat his tail. Luckily, he’s got slow bite reflexes.
  10. Your first swim lesson was Sunday. You outgrew your 12 month reusable swim diaper before the lesson even came about. Big shocker. You were a splashing machine during class, then were quickly wrapped in your blanket, because mother-of-the-year here forgot towels for either of us. #winningimg_3078
  11. You’re still kinda huge. Your beefy bod weighs in around 20 lbs, and you’ve been wearing 12 month clothes since Christmas. You’re twice as massive as any of the little 8- and 10-month-old girls in swim class (who swoon over you in your orange trunks, almost certainly).
  12. We’re researching daycares for you, because Momma can’t take 24/7 baby care and needs to do some dietitian-ing again. It’ll just be two days a week and the daycares are fabulous up here, but I suspect you will protest.
  13. On that note, we transferred our gym membership this week from the YMCA to the JCC for the childcare they offer. Nothing motivates working out more than the ability to do so sans Pook. Or shower sans Pook. Or enjoy coffee in their cafe sans Pook. The babysitters there know you very well.
  14. You have a strange obsession with plastic crinkly packaging. One of your favorite “toys” to play with while I’m cooking dinner, in addition to a rubber spatula and measuring spoons, is a still wrapped fruit strip. You chew the heck out of it. I’m sure we’ll find out in a few years that there are dangerous chemicals in the wrapper. Whaddayagonnado?

It would be nice to round it out on 15, but the sweet sweet moment of your napping has come to a close.

Love,

Momma

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