6 months, 1 week, and a couple of days young

Let's talk about Alaina being SIX months old. Half a year. Half a year. She will never be a newborn ever again. She will never not be able to sit up again. She will never not be able to hold toys and play with them again. She will never weigh less than 17 pounds again. She will never not be able to join us at meals in her highchair again. She will never fit comfortably in the Bjorn again. Those days are over. Over. Already. Already.

How do I feel about it? I'm okay. Most of the time. Because growth is good. Really good. And so is health. And Alaina is totally healthy. So, I'm happy and content and at peace with the fact that her first year of life is already half over. Again, most of the time that's how I feel. Sometimes I long for magical powers so I can make time stand still for a few minutes. Or years. I've talked about this before. Cliche, I know, but I don't care, which is also cliche. So, I'm a cliche. Oh well.

I want to hold on to my baby for as long as possible. Because I love babies. Love them. I like to watch them learn how to eat. I like to watch as their eyes wander as they discover their own hands and feet and toys. I like the way they look at you and grab your face and put their mouth on it to taste you. I love how they tear sunglasses off your face and get giddy when they finally get a handful of your hair. I like to watch them smile as they wake from a good, long afternoon nap. I love when you accidentally fall back asleep after feeding them in the morning and then they fall asleep next to you and then you wake up and see the most peaceful sight in the world right on your pillow. I love their curiosity. I love consoling them when they cry. I even like changing diapers, sometimes. Weird. I know. I would enjoy having a baby around at all times. If I didn't loathe pregnancy, we might have four or five little critters by now...

Dot. Dot. Dot...

I am NOT pregnant.

No. I am not.