Welcome to 2015. Man, that break was nice, and I pray yours was, too.
I’ve got plenty to say about the tail end of our holiday, my word of the year and who I chose for my spiritual board of directors, but first? BABIES!
Or, rather, *A* cute baby. She’s eight months young and someone hit the fast forward button.
She’s still the most adored kid in the house, competing only with everyone else. But, her eyelashes win by juuuust a mile. Her best eight-month gift to me? She said her first word, MAMA! Oh, be still my heart. I think she does that so I won’t trade her in come 3am. She starts to rustle in the middle of the night and before I can mutter, “G, please go back to sleep,” she belts out, “MAMA.” So, yeah. I’ll keep her.
Yes, she’s still in our room but only because we did a massive room switcharoo over the holidays. Trust me, it makes for great blog material. It’s coming, I promise. We wanted to get her sleeping situation squared away before we did the shuffle of kids. And just before we decided to move her, I noticed she had a little strider, medical speak for funny breathing. I took her in to the pedi thinking she might have RSV. ‘Tis the season and all.
Nope. Raging ear infection.
Motherhood. I haven’t learned a d**n thing. Now we’re on amoxicillin and 8-billion probiotics and I am praying praying praying she starts sleeping better. This every two hour gig at night is not for me. I’m too old for this, y’all. Doc even said, “Man, she must have a super high pain tolerance to be this happy.” Who knows how long she’s had it! My best guess is that next week, she’ll have her own digs. We had to give the Aggie office the boot. Don’t be too sad, because now it’s just a red ass Aggie nursery. Pics and such coming soon.
Not only did Gianna win me over with her sweet babbles, but she officially has two teeth. WHAT? Whitaker kids don’t erupt those bad boys until AT LEAST twelve months. It’s why I nurse so long. So far, no biting. Let’s hope that’s the course we take for the foreseeable future.
She is true to form in the mobile – or shall we say, immobile – department. Sweet G just started sitting up in the last week or so. We still have some leaning Tower of Pisa going on with a few crashes, but she gets stronger in her core everyday. Rolling is a take it or leave it thing with her. Mostly leave it. She can do it, but she’s all, why??
John Paul is still the kid that can get her laughing in seconds. Clare asks 3,153 times a day to hold her. Luke can be heard saying, “Um, Mom, Gigi needs you.” Anna-Laura is my biggest helper and Will runs like the wind every time a diaper is made. We’re still doing cloth and I still love it.
As for food, I’m what we call “conservative.” We don’t start cereal until six months (she took right to it) and baby food until now. Which, um, reminds me… I gotta get on that. She’s weighing in at just over 16 pounds and she’s sporting primarily 6-9 month clothes.
All I know is that her presence in our family is a tremendous gift. Sometimes, when I’m holding her, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and think, Is that baby really ours? Yes. Yes, she is. It often feels like borrowed time. I’m no longer the 20- or 30-something mom of an infant anymore. Such great perspective comes in your 40s when having a baby. That God, He does good work.
We’re marching toward her first birthday and that just doesn’t even seem possible. Right now, I’m enjoying measuring her milestones in months. Eight months, let’s do this!