today, my little goofball is six months and 16 days old. he loves sticking out his tongue. he's fascinated by his sister—her singing, dancing, eating, playing, crying, everything. he wakes up happy every morning. from his crib, he looks up at me with a smile so big it turns into a laugh before i can even say good morning. sometimes he grabs my face, pulls it toward his big open mouth and slobbers all over my chin and cheeks: his version of a kiss. if i were covered in that kind of slobber all day, i'd be a truly happy woman.
the kid is eager to get crawling. he won't sit still while i read him a book (he'd rather eat the book than listen to it). he's learned that "coughing" gets mommy's attention, and that when he drops something off of his highchair or changing table, mommy will pick it up.
before i put him to bed for the night, i sing him a lullaby. he won't listen to me read a book, but he'll listen to me sing. i'll sing to him until he's old enough to tell me he doesn't want me to sing to him anymore. (i know it'll happen, just like it did with his sister.)
bless this little boy for being so cheerful, for sleeping so well and for bringing us so much joy and purpose. how can it be that just six months ago, i was overrun with guilt because i didn't know how i would ever love this little person as much as i love my firstborn? oh, how my heart has grown since then. it's grown exponentially, in a way i never thought possible. it is so full, and life is so good.