Somehow I blinked, and it’s been five months since Leap Day.
She went from the uncontrollable head bobble to rolling over like a champ.
She grabs everyfrigginthing she can find, putting it all in her mouth, baby-growling and slobbering everywhere.
If it’s within mouth’s reach, she’s chewing on it. She’s yanking on it, bringing it to her mouth, and gumming it to absolute death. Especially my chin.
Despite the interrupted sleep, I truly look forward to feeling her grab at me for that middle-of-the-night nuzzle, where her mouth is searching. I wake up happily to her sweet, fuzzy head nestling against me for milk.
She’s ready to make anyone’s day, to take on the world, ready to see and experience everything from our arms, armed with her mood-brightening smile and her wide eyes.
I want to cup my hands and drink from the well that is this beautiful age. I thirst for it every second.
She is five months old, and it pains me so deep in my heart that it’s going so fast.