Car rides are becoming quite pleasant for all of us now. You just sit there in your carseat, look around or stare off into space, and quietly process things for a good half hour before you get fussy or fall asleep, provided I stay beside you but ignore you. How very specific of you. You don’t want me crowding you but at the same time, need to know I’m there, especially when we go through tunnels, which is perhaps the only time you look my way while we’re in the car. I can’t help but smile every time.
Yesterday, I sang you The Alphabet Song while holding your hands and moving your little arms to the beat. You smiled your gummy smile and you looked so funny. Your dad and I were laughing so hard, there were tears in our eyes. And then you sang along for the first time. You make me so happy, my love. We’ve been singing a lot together since then. You coo and coo along like you’re singing it with me. You’re out of tune, but you do it so earnestly and happily. It’s insanely adorable and it melts my heart, and I just want to scoop you in my arms and squish you every time.
The other night, you fell asleep in your crib without any help for the first time. Not our decision, but yours entirely. You’ve been sleeping on our bed since we took you home from the hospital. We tried before, but you would cry, so we kept you between us at night. And despite some people’s advice not to carry you often so you won’t get spoiled, we did. We held you every time you needed it. I’m glad we did. You’ve grown to become a happy, secure, capable little fellow. You’re now asserting your independence, and I am simultaneously elated, incredibly proud, and profoundly sad.
You’re almost six months old. You’re growing up so fast. Someday, you won’t need to look for me when you go through tunnels anymore. I’ll enjoy it while I can.