Haines turned eight months this week. Eight months. Eight months! This feels like the most incredible shock to me. How has he been in our lives for eight whole months?
Eight months is a baby that wants to get into everything. He’s crawling and pulling up on everything. Stand up with him and he’s walking a few wobbly, happy steps at a time with hands tightly grasping on for help. Each move forward is a little dance- the bouncing of feet and a swivel of the hips.
Eight months is listening to non-stop babbling and laughter, punctuated by inconsolable wailing. It is teething and a faucet of drool that only stops for spit up. His spit up has reached new heights of grossness as it now comes with food and not just milk.
Eight months is watching the most adorable strawberry blonde tufts of hair peek from behind boxes and toys. The hair isn’t hurrying to grow in but his cradle cap makes it look like more.
Eight months means we finally have a night time sleep schedule with a solid ten hours of uninterrupted baby sleep. It doesn’t mean we have a nap schedule. Sometimes it means bouncing a baby for the whole afternoon while he whimpers. Sometimes it means driving around the lake for an hour. It is still being shockingly tired.
Eight months is less about mom and baby and more about family. There are still struggles to shift responsibilities from one parent to another but mostly, often, it feels good. Mostly it feels like we are partners and not only that, but that we have space for one another again.
Eight months is a baby whose face is full of love. He watches his dad move around the house with total admiration and fascination. If I smile at him his eyes are so full of light and joy. Do we all start out like this, so in love with the world?
Eight months is having a small sense of routine and how things are supposed to go. There are predictable cries, predictable times of the day and things that just make sense. He’s asking for milk. It’s time for a nap. That whimper means he’s going to start wailing soon. It’s getting to know him.
Eight months makes it harder to say goodbye in the morning when he’s so playful and interactive. I’m still glad to be at work and to have this outlet but I thought it would get easier to leave him in the morning. It doesn’t.
Eight months means my brain is still foggy but the visibility has improved. I see now how quickly this time passes. I can see now that I’ll get my brain back one day and in the meantime I’m doing fine with what I’ve got.
Eight months is blogging while I hold a sleeping baby with a double ear infection. It is stressing all week about my workload until he’s sent home from daycare and now? Totally letting go. It’s not that important.