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Posts tagged ‘Little Guy’

Seven Months.

To my Little Guy,

Suddenly, you’re not so little.

Over the last few weeks, you’ve growth-spurted in a way that’s made every plant in this house super jelly.  Pajamas that once fit with room to spare are threatening to hulk out at the feet and your appetite is already edging towards the scary things that moms of teenage boys told me.  (“Prepare to have him eat you out of house and home!!!” they said, running to their second job that pays solely for their son’s lunch consumption.)  Despite still running small for your age, you’re a completely proportionate tiny human tank.

Food is your favorite thing, after your sister and making the “pppbbbblllllltt” noise with your mouth.  Most often you can be found in the high chair eating sweet potatoes,  scrambled eggs, peanut butter and bananas mashed together (that’s your favorite this month), and your hands.  Still no gluten until you’re over a year old, like we did with your sister.

You’d very much like the cats to be your friends, but so far only Loopy will give you the time of day.  She comes up and purrs maniacally, weaving herself in and out of your reach and letting you pet (mash) her on the head.  Siah, on the other hand, is horrified by your existence and keeps serious distance between her fur and your paws.

Unrelated:  Squirrels and chipmunks seem to like you just fine and they grin at you when we go from the front door to the car.

Side eye because he knows it ain't Valentine's Day. #anachronisticbib

A post shared by Kerri Sparling (@sixuntilme) on

I finished breastfeeding recently and you’re now on formula.  Ending breastfeeding was a difficult choice but one kind of forced, in part, by the eye injury that resurfaced a few weeks ago.  I wasn’t able to feed you because I couldn’t see or manage pain very well during that episode of corneal chaos, so you were receiving pumped breastmilk instead of being able to latch on to me.  Fast forward a few days once I had recovered and putting you on my breast didn’t produce food fast enough for you, so you fussed and freaked out.  Back to bottles of breastmilk (and formula) until pumping wasn’t an option anymore, either.  (Not being able to physically feed you myself slowed production down to nothing.  And yes, I’m writing about breastfeeding you again.  Stop rolling your eyes.)

With the stopping of breastfeeding finally brought an end to the deluge of pregnancy-related hormones that took up intense residence in my body, and that’s been a very positive mental shift.  The postpartum anxiety thing has tapered off quite a bit, in part due to cognitive behavioral therapy once a week and also the lack of hormonal influence.  (We also joined a gym, you and I … more on that in a non-you post.)  I’m feeling like I’m more capable of taking good care of you instead of feeling like I’m holding on to everything by a thread.

And with a more relaxed mindset, I’ve realized you’re it … the last little baby I’ll ever have.  Watching you grow so fast has made me want to slow time down.  Which translates into you and I reading a lot of books together, or going for walks with your stroller.  We snuggle, often.  And I like to look into your eyes and wonder what color they’ll eventually settle on.  Time goes by very quickly and I am trying to spend as much of it as I can with you and your sister.

We’re lucky to have you, little Guy.  So very lucky.  And while I want to enjoy the little friend that you are, I am looking forward to seeing whoever it is you become.

Now go to sleep.

Love,
Mom

Five Months.

To my Guy,

Five months old!  (And I’m pretty sure I forgot to write you a letter at the four month mark, so here’s a quick high five for turning four months old a bit back, too.)  Five months ago, I was excitedly awaiting your arrival and folding piles of baby clothes.  Now, I am greeted by your big, toothless smile every morning while you excitedly slap your legs against the crib like a mermaid.

Sorry.  MerMAN.

You are a tiny sweet potato with an appetite for both pears and destruction.  Despite being on the more petite side at the moment (single digit percentile for weight and barely double digits for height), you eat like you are a teenage boy.  In the last few weeks, I’ve had trouble keeping up with your food demand, so we’ve started working in the occasional formula bottle here and there.  I’m still breastfeeding and pumping as often as possible, but you need to eat, so formula is at the ready for the moments when I’m not.

You’re more tolerant about tummy time these days and you spent a lot of time on your play mat.  (Although when you’re feeling done being on your stomach, you fling yourself to the side to roll over, like you’re trying to roll down a hill.)  Just like your sister, you are content to holler happily at the plush animals dangling overhead.  This morning, though, you slammed a rattle against your head and engaged in your first “crying because of little injury” jag.  Real tears. It sucked.  And now you are giving that rattle some major side-eye.  Welcome to the world, little Guy.

Real food is also a recently introduced thing, and you’ve joined us at the table in your very own (belonged to your sister and is more than six years old but whatever – we like to save stuff) high chair.  The food you’ve tried so far are pears, and that first go wasn’t very successful.  Lots of confusion about what on earth a “spoon” is and also WTF “pears?”  But now, a few days and many attempts later, you wait with your hands on the high chair tray all excited, ready for the SPOON! and PEARS! and the mess that follows.

At the table. #milestone

A photo posted by Kerri Sparling (@sixuntilme) on

In the last few weeks, you’ve gone on your first trip to New York City to meet some friends, slept over at your Grammie’s a few times, and you’ve decided that Loopy is your favorite cat because she has a fluffy tail and she walks circles around you and makes you laugh, while Siah is the one who watches you sleep from afar, not daring to go closer but keeping tabs on you all the same.  The world is starting to crack open and let you peek inside, and it seems like you’re a fan.

It still amazes me, even though I’ve done this once before, how quickly the weeks change you.  You used to be a little thing with half-closed eyes and unable to hold up your own head, snuggled carefully and warmly against me at all hours.  Now you’re this much sturdier little man, smiling all the time and entertained by books, patty cake, and the series of foolish songs we make up and sing to you.  I’m afraid to blink because you’ll be crawling, then running, then refusing to eat your eggs before school every morning.

Time goes by very quickly, and I’m trying to appreciate these moments when you are little.  

Thank you for being part of our family. And for sleeping. And for the smiles that make me feel like I must be doing something right. You’re my littlest friend and I love you bunches.

Love,
Mom

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