Urban Drool

My dear little Pickle…

Yesterday, on your six month birthday, you laid in bed with your Papa and grinned and gurgled and squeed out loud, kicking him in the ribs with your “egg beater legs” (only done when you are very happy and excited about something) and I felt once again the daily tug at my heart and thickness at the back of my throat, because I knew I had to walk out the door.

If I was not already ridiculously in love with you (Hint: I am) I would have fallen head over heels in love with you this past month. This past month we have witnessed what I like to call the Beginning of the Era of Advancement and Exploration. The things you have done, seen, felt and places you have been in these past 4 weeks is astounding! Let’s re-cap, shall we?

- you, YOU, young lady have been on your very first vacation. Hilton Head Island, South Carolina shall ne’er be the same place again, now that it is felt the love o’ the Lucy. In order to get there, we had to travel to the airport, hang around for 2.5 hours, then actually board the plane (smiling beatifically at the very nervous looking passengers who noticed that we were boarding a plane with an infant oh my God are you INSANE?!?!), spend 1 hour and 37 minutes in the air and a total of almost 8 hours in a car.

I was exhausted by the time we got to the condo at 9 pm that night and ready for the vacation to be over already.

But you handled it like a champ and merely looked around, wondering when happy hour was going to start.

While on vacation you “swam” in the ocean (read here: had your feet dangled in the water at the edge of the surf while Gram-Gram hovered nervously around the periphery and glared at Grandpa K every time he referred to you as “Shark Bait”), “swam” in the pool (read here: sat like a lump in the blow up “boat” that Grandma M gave you while being tooled around the pool by me), went on many a sunrise and sunset walk on the beach, ate crawdads and shrimp at a raw bar, spent the afternoon in Savannah, Georgia (dining on the Plantation Buffet at a restaurant that was housed in the oldest building in the state of Georgia), and took the whole big long trip back home in your stride. What a little trooper.

Of course, you did make us pay for it later. Oh, yes. Need we mention the 4 times a night requests for nursings at 40 minutes apiece that started almost as soon as we got back home? Need we mention the screeching for endless minutes on end for no apparent reason?

- while on vacation, you got to meet the coolest uncle in all of uncle-dom, your Uncle Z. Now, I know he’s kind of scary looking (people who are 6 ft, 5 inches tall but only weigh around 135 pounds do tend to resemble your average scarecrow) but I assure you, he’s the coolest, nicest dude around. Don’t hold the fact that he’s vegan and hippie and blasts his trumpet at all hours of the day and night against him, OK?

- So…you can move now. And…my life is officially over. While you are not exactly crawling yet, you are definitely “creeping.” You love to simultaneously straighten out your arms so that all your weight is supported on your hands, stiffen your legs and thrust yourself forward in a constant attempt to get at your latest love (these days – either the Snoopy doll or your little plastic purple block.) You will also on occasion get up on your hands and knees and rock back and forth, grinning at your damn self the whole damn time. Wow. I am told that this means that actual, legitimate crawling is just around the corner. Yikes.

(Note to self: maybe we should move those exposed wires out of the way?)



- Your constant need to explore and discover has taken over, and it is the dearest, most wonderous and most exhausting quality you have yet to exhibit. While the dirty floor and it’s environs hold substantial interest, nobody or thing is more irresistible to you and your inquiring hands than either me or Papa. You crawl and roll all over us, patting down various parts of our anatomy (ahem), poking your wee fingers in our noses/mouths/ears and twisting and turning those little pinchers to see what you can extract (um, ow). My long hair continues to be a particular favorite plaything of yours, and I laughed until I peed myself the first time you grabbed my cheek with your hands, planted your little lips on it and started sucking away, actually EATING my face, while making “mmmm…mmmm…MMMMM!!!” sounds. In truth? I absolutely adore witnessing this huge leap in your development. Your constant need to see, smell, taste and touch us is amazing to me. To me, it is a representation of the remarkable trust you have in us.

- Your sounds. The noises you make. They change and become more numerous with every passing day. Your current repertoire includes the following:
o Mmmm!!!!
o Dadadadadadada…..
o Ppffffbbbbtttt (this one is done with your tongue thrusted out and spit flying everywhere)
o Oohhhhhhh!!!
o eeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeee (like a ambulance siren. Only cuter.)
o dddduuuuurrrrrrrr…….
o ggrrrrgrgrgrgrggguuuurrrrrrrrgggglll…(a kind of back of the throat, gurglish, Marlene Dietrich kinda
thing)
and so on…

- you have gotten so big and so strong. You can no longer be contained in your bouncy seat. You love to illustrate just how inadequate the safety belts and various limitation-enhancement options of the bouncy seat are by twisting and turning your wee little body until you reach up with both hands and grab the TOP OF THE BOUNCY SEAT AND TRY TO DRAG THE TOYS THAT DANGLE THERE DOWN TO YOUR GAPING MOUTH!! And then you look over to make sure one of us is watching you, as it to say “Do you see? Are you understanding the depth and power of my abilities here, people? Time to step it up a notch or two, you poor bastards.”

And step it up we will. The pack and play for the living room and the exersaucer have already been ordered and are on their way. Papa is doing mental list making and general hysteria in his planning on how to baby proof the house. You eat three meals a day and like to watch Nick Jr. and know which buttons are your favorites on the remote control.

But you are still such a baby to me. You will still on occasion sigh and melt into me while you nurse. You still curl yourself up against Papa when you take your morning naps in the big bed. You still will not go to sleep at night unless you are swaddled and rocked, with tiny kisses being rained down upon your wee little head.

And I love it. And I love you. Happy 6 months birthday, my little pickle. My pickle-tickle. My squdge. My boo. My Lucy-Goose-Juice-Monster.



Warm sloppy kisses all over your belly,
Mama