I can hardly believe it, but here we are. Six months.
I couldn’t begin to estimate the number of diaper changes or loads of laundry or outfits ruined by spit-up. I can’t possibly describe the joy I felt when I first saw your grouchy little face in August, or when you first smiled at me in the wee small hours of that September morning, or when you mastered the art of rolling over from back to belly, belly to back. I can’t manage to express how excited I am to see you learn your next trick, and the next one after that, and the one after that, forever and ever amen.
You are so happy. So affable, so easy to please. You smile easily, laugh a little more judiciously, and cry only for a really good reason. You grab me by the hair above my temples and pull me close and squeal right in my ear as if your little body can’t contain all the joy you feel, so you have to scream a little bit to relieve the pressure. The triumphant feeling I get when I manage to earn a giggle from Henry is enough to warm my whole chest, to light up my face, to make me feel weepy with happiness.
All I want to do is take care of you. Make sure you’re happy. Make sure you’re healthy. Make sure you know just how loved you are. You’re growing every day, and I’m torn between looking forward to the future and wishing I could just pause right here.
You are delightful, little man. Thank you for every single day, every laugh and every cry. You light up my world and I love you so very much.