You are six months old. Six! Halfway to your first birthday! Unbelievable, really. And unbelievable what a little person you are already. We spent some time yesterday with a four week old baby, all floppy head and dazed expression and thousand yard stare, and I found myself searching my brain to remember if you had ever been that way. Which you must have been, I suppose, one newborn being more or less like any other, except also, not really. You've had this light in your eyes since birth, this wicked gleam that seems to say that you are totally on to us and prepared to work the system, and I think it is that as much as your size that leads strangers to guess that you are a year old.
Although the size certainly supports that conclusion. You are 21 pounds 4 ounces and 28 and 1/4 inches long, which puts you on track to be 6'6" tall, which I can virtually assure you will not happen. You aren't missing any meals, my friend. In fact, in the past month we've added quite a few meals and started you on solid foods. You've tried rice cereal, oatmeal, pears, sweet potatoes, apples and bananas, and while you don't seem to like all of those things you eat every bite you are offered regardless. A wise choice as you need to keep your strength up for all the moving you are doing.
This month you became a fully independent sitter. Sure, you've been sitting on your own in one fashion or another since four months, but now you are totally in control. You can sit for as long as you want, reach and bend to retrieve toys or make another futile attempt at reaching your toes, and recover easily from even a major wobble. You are also starting to crawl. You lie on your impressive belly, upush up on your arms until most of your torso is off the floor, and then cram your chubby thighs up under you. So far, you always collapse, usually making several inches of backwards progress, and you are starting to figure out that backwards is still moving and using it to your advantage. I'm guessing that I have at most another two to three weeks before I spend most of my waking hours running along ahead of you moving bits of princess detritus out of your rapidly crawling path.
You have discovered that Mommy is best, strangers are bad, and that there are times when even Daddy simply will not do. This is quite a change from the little boy who would go straight to anybody and settle in for a major flirting session. This is especially true at bedtime, when the mere sight of your father is enough to set of a screaming fit of epic proportions. It is nice to be needed, yes, but it is also nice to shower occasionally.
You love to listen to books, especially if they are close enough that you can try to get them into your mouth, love to sit up and play with toys, prefer standing to any other position, and have taken to sleeping flat on your face. When you sleep, that is. We've had a run of bad luck when it comes to getting you to bed at night, reflux is a likely suspect and we are trying some medication to see if it will help. When you do settle down, though, it is almost always with your head tucked up under my chin, and those moments of falling asleep with your sticky-outy hair tickling my lips are some of the best of my days.
By the time you reach seven months old, Mia will have started preschool and left us to our own devices two mornings a week. I am looking forward to having those small blocks of time to devote exclusively to you, although I think you will miss Mia badly and it may take you as long to adjust to her absence as it takes for me. I have lots of plans for things we can do, but hope to spend much of that time bouncing you on my lap and barking at you (never fails to crack you up) and tickling you under the chin. You are an amazing little guy, Owen, and I am excited to finally have the time to just bask in your glow.