Today you turned six months old. You have started sleeping at night, not through the night, but close enough. You usually awaken twice to eat but then doze off quickly. Those few extra hours of sleep make all the difference for me. I’m a borderline superhero these days. Among my superhero powers is cooking. I’ve started creating real meals again — even for you. You’ve eaten sweet potatoes, peas, bananas, and apples with gusto. One person aptly compared you to a baby bird. You lean forward in your chair with eyes wide and mouth desperately open. More, more! Faster, faster!
When I am foolish enough to sit you in my lap during dinner, you yank the tablecloth and reach for any food in sight. The other night, your hand grazed my plate. I suspected that you had snatched something, but you kept your hand tightly fisted, your face sweetly innocent. I fought to uncurl each finger, and then I found your plunder. A peanut. You had stolen a peanut!
Some friends of ours baby-sat you while Daddy and I went out for his birthday. These friends were under the impression, as many people are, that you were some sort of magical zen baby who would not, could not, cry. They soon learned that in the evening, you are a typical tired, fussy baby. Sometimes more than fussy. “Mad” might be the word. The only way they could calm you was to take you outside. I have also noticed how the clouds and wind and trees soothe you. You are my nature baby.
Daddy and I were talking recently about how boring we have become. We seldom catch the latest movies or eat at the hip restaurants. Most of our free time is spent trailing your sister around the neighborhood on her bike. And that’s OK. For the first time in a long time, this life is enough. You and your sisters are enough. You have brought me so much peace, Henry. Thank you for that.