Seven Months of Heaven

Finley,

Tomorrow you turn seven months old. I am blown away by our relationship. You growl, I gasp, you giggle, I clap, you squeal, I chuckle, you cry, I comfort. I love you.

Our schedule has finally come together, and we do pretty much the same things every day at the same time. Don't get me wrong, I still struggle daily to find the balance I need as a mom and as myself... But I'm getting better.

This year I am reliving summer through new eyes. You, me, Aunt Hannah, and Aunt Emma took a trip to the lake yesterday, and having you there made everything more lovely.

Let's see... Milestones... You sit up perfectly. You eat Cheerios. You hate fruit and love vegetables. You tasted creme brulee. Your hair is growing in better on one side because you roll your head in your sleep and rub it all off. You will only roll over in one direction (over your left shoulder) and you're trying to wave, clap, and say "hi."

Everyone around here cannot believe how much fun you are. Now that you can actually play games and laugh, your aunts and uncles are constantly stealing you away. Your grandparents, both sets, think you are gorgeous and smart.

You love books, dolls, the piano, but you mostly love being outside. Anytime you fuss I just set you on a blanket in the yard and you shut up and look around. You think grass is hilarious and weird. You listen to birds and growl back at them.

Every day I see you stretch more, get a little more brave. You haven't rolled off the bed yet, but soon you will get scratches, bruises, bumps. It will break my heart to see those form on your little body, but those are a part of life. They're battles scars, tales of your travels.

You know, someday we'll fight. It'll be when you're two and you don't want to take a nap. It'll be when you're five and you want to wear some horrendous outfit that your Aunt Reilly let you pick out, and you'll throw a tantrum in front of your kindergarten teacher. It'll be when you're ten and you shove all your books and toys under your bed instead of cleaning your room properly, and then you'll be grounded from night games.

It'll be when you're thirteen and start shaving your legs behind my back. It'll be when you're sixteen and want to spend all your time with a group of strange teenagers who all have the same hair. It'll be when you're nineteen and you're dating someone I don't care for, only because no one is good enough for you.

It's a big world out there, Fin, full of beauty and ugly and humor and tears and people who want to help you, and people who want to hurt you, and people who just pass you by in the store. Happy faces, sad faces, blank faces. Just know that whatever we fight about, whatever choices you decide are what I want for you. You can be a ballerina, a schoolteacher, a mom, a Samantha Jones... Anything you want. (Just don't ever tell me if you're a Samantha. Ever.)

I hope you are always as curious, light-hearted, thoughtful, and cheerful as you are these days.

I love you, little fish.

And someday, when we're fighting, when you push me away, I'll remind you that once, a long time ago, you curled up next to me every night and hated being away from me.

Love, your Mama