Dear Rowan, today you are...

Dear Pookie,

Today you are five months old. You have enough balance to sit up for minutes at a time. And you can even inch over onto your belly from that position. While on your back today, you picked up the baby beach ball to your right and moved it to your mouth. You dropped it and picked it back up, and you totally could not have done this a month ago.

{a nap after you fell backward and bonked your head, sorry about that}

Sometimes I can't believe what a happy baby you are. I want to take some of the credit for this 'cuz I'm human, and humans can be ego-maniacs. But I believe this is your disposition. You really are a Buddha baby, maybe the next Dalai Lama. I thank you every day for being so patient with mommy.

I know sometimes it takes me forever to change your diaper. (Though you have to admit I do a pretty good job with all that kicking and leg exercise you do.) And sometimes your elbows get a little stuck midway through the arm tubes of your onesies. You let me know this is frustrating, but in a sweet, warning way. Like you're giving me a few more minutes, but I'd better get my act together pronto! You can wait, because you know that I'll give your knuckles back. So you can put 'em right where they belong: back in your mouth.

{here you are with daddy on father's day}

I feel funny resuming this letter after you had a meltdown and it took me an hour to seduce you to sleep. But you're a baby. And you certainly don't cry as much as the baby downstairs--who sounds really sad right now--while you're asleep, all peaceful. I like how your left arm either stretches out over your face or brackets it like a "greater than" math sign. Like daddy.

I like how you suck both your thumbs at the same time. I like how when we dance, you suddenly catch a glimpse of my fingers hugging your fingers from the corner of your eye; and your whole body bee lines to gum my knuckle. You have good peripheral vision.

We have this monkey that we bought in Santiago on one of our several trips to the American embassy for papa's visa. I slept with that monkey all the time after we got it for you, because you weren't born yet and papa was working in the mountains.

{r + m}

Now that your brain can tell your hands what to do, you love that monkey with all of your might. And when you drop it from the swing, you crane over to find where it might have gone. When the monkey flies back to you from the opposite side, you coo and squeal and grab the monkey with all of your body: your feet your legs, your killer abs your neck, and your wide open mouth.

I love that I can make you this happy. I love that you can make me this happy.

Even though you don't sleep very well. Though tonight you are sleeping well. (And I don't want to jinx it.)

Mommy loves Rowan.