A Letter to Des: You are a gift.

Desmond,

The day you turned six months old I wanted to write you a letter. I would tell you all the amazing things about yourself so that you could forever know how much I loved you on that day. How amazing you were, the incredible baby feats you could accomplish now that you have lived an entire half-year.

No more Wee Little Baby.

I would have told you how, now that you can completely sit, you love to throw toys behind yourself and then turn to see where they landed. How you turn to listen to me sing and laugh when I clap my hands for you. You laugh twice as hard when I clap your hands for you, too. You have learned how to put out your arm when you toss yourself towards a toy so that you don’t faceplant. You’ve learned to put up your arms and say Mama! Mama! When you need me to pick you up again.

I could have written about how you’ve learned to tear off your own socks, to carefully remove the adorable hats I love to make you wear. I could have written about how you figured out the most painful place to pull Mommy’s hair is the back of the neck. And earrings are fun shiny toys that need to be YANKED.

First Cart Ride!

I thought about how you’ve recently realized how awesome it is to suck on your thumb. I thought about writing out the way you recognize when I baby-sign for breastfeeding, how you giggle and snort and say YES PLEASE with your eyes. Or perhaps I would write about the fact that you are still a gargantuan baby at 21lbs and 28 inches long but thankfully hitting a plateau for a while.

All day I marveled at how magnificent you are, how magnificent life is that we all start so small, we all come so far as human beings. How lucky I am to have a little miracle like you to remind me of the beauty of life. When I look back at photos of tiny squidgely little newborn you it shocks me how far you have really come. How you had to cross those murky waters of consciousness and scream in my arms as you made your way through the acknowledgment of existence. We’ve had good days and we’ve had harder days but I’ve loved you more and more with each moment, no matter the effort the day required. I never knew love could have a growth curve like this, before you.

Exploring new senses.

That night we roasted a sweet potato and let you grab a wedge to feed yourself. You were overwhelmed by the texture, the taste of this new sense you had never experienced. You gummed it and spit it out and we laughed as you shook your head and made the sweetest frowny face that has ever existed.

And I realized I had not written about it. I had not taken the time to put it all down... And I was happy that I hadn’t.

You are a gift.

I was happy that instead I had treasured those moments. I looked into your eyes and I soaked up your smile from the first morning grin to the last sleepy bedtime smirk. I left the words to be written for another day and spent the entire day basking in your beauty, marveling at how brilliant and amazing you really are.

You are a gift.

Love,
Mommy.