Month 5: Sickness and the Death Stabber

My Sweets,

As I write this, you are slipping in and out of wakefulness, rocking side to side in your swing. You are suffering from an upper respiratory viral infection, conjunctivitis in your eyes, and a hoarse throat. And I feel awful. I took you to the doctor's office this morning after a particularly rough night; your scary, hoarse cough kept Daddy and I awake more than you, though. By 5:00 in the morning, I'd put you in your swing to keep you sitting up, and I finally managed to capture a few hours' sleep on the couch. I refused to give in to fear, as tempting as it was to rush you to the emergency room in the middle of the night. But your spirits were high. You're crying and grumbling more than usual, but who doesn't complain, whine, and moan when they're not feeling well? The hardest part for me is watching you deal with your sickness without the ability to express yourself in words. I want to make you better. I want you to feel okay. I want so badly for this sickness to pass.

Although this illness has marked the end of your fifth month of life and is bringing us into your sixth, it's far overshadowed by the progress you've shown throughout September. That hoarse voice? I'm surprised it took an illness to get so hoarse. You're a screamer. You love letting the world know that you're happy. We have to whisper to you to temper your boisterous calls; how else do you teach a baby that screaming is just not necessary? But it's so cute... so sometimes we encourage it. Don't tell Papa, though... your screaming is one thing he just doesn't like.

Not only are you screaming, but you're babbling. Mornings are the best. Sometimes, when you wake just as your mom and dad are stirring, you engage in conversation. You're happily cooing to yourself (or to us, but who knows) and those sounds of some of the sweetest noises I've ever heard. I love the expression in your voice; your vocal range is phenomenal (see: screaming, as detailed above.) Neither your mama or dad are particularly loud or talkative (especially not your dad), so it's a mystery where you got your voice from. But it's beautiful, nonetheless.

Vocally, September began out with one of the sweetest sounds I've ever heard - a giggle escaping your throat as I played a little game with you. I haven't been able to get you to giggle again all month, which is heartbreaking, but your daddy is good at getting a giggle to escape here and there. I really hope that's a noise that we get a little bit more familiar with as the fall continues. 

Your mama started working at Inferno Fitness, a local gym, twice a week this month. I drag you along, where you're looked after in the back room by a child care provider with a bunch of other kids. There's one other little girls your age, and you're becoming more and more interested by other kids. Your world doesn't solely revolve around you and your parents anymore - you're curious in other people, and it's such a delight to watch you hold out your hands and lean towards others in curiosity.

September saw the advent of the "death stabber" as we so lovingly refer to it - that's right, your first tooth. It's your bottom left tooth, and it's sharp as can be. I think Natalie gave your tooth that moniker, and it's quite fitting - I'm pretty sure you'd be able to draw blood with that thing. You've been drooling crazily for the past week or so, so I'm assuming that its partner in crime is on its way. You love chewing on our fingers to numb your aching gums.

In other embarrassing news (I'm sure you'll love me for this one), I just have to share a poop story. Pooping takes up a significant portion of time in an infant's life, so why not discuss it? You used to poop only when you were breastfeeding, but now it happens at any given time, usually when you're dressed to the nines and we're just about to head out the door. That happens about twice a week. One day at suppertime, you were sitting in your high chair between Daddy and I. Usually supper time involves high pitched squeals on your part as you chew on plastic toys (we're not starting you on solids until six months), but this particular day, you were a little quieter, more concentrated. For about fifteen minutes, the only noise you emitted was a low pitched grumble as you stared forward. For fifteen minutes, Daddy and I watched you in your intense state of concentration. I bet your dad that you were pooping, and lo and behold, I was right. Daddy got to change that diaper. I hope I never forget the sound you made or the expression on your face, because it was hilarious. You make us laugh daily.

You're still rolling over crazily, and you've been showing an interest in crawling, but digging your heels into the ground isn't something you're capable of doing quite yet. You want it though; you want it badly. If I leave you on the floor long enough to try a few times, you end up high-centered (as your daddy puts it) with arms and legs kicking. Sweetie, you're just not going anywhere yet. Hopefully not for a while, either - I'm not ready to start chasing you around the house. Please just stay in my arms a little while longer?

Finally, this fifth month has been marked by an increasing interest in the toys attached to your jumparoo and exersaucer - if you're having a good day, I can leave you in your exersaucer for an entire hour while I prepare supper. I love watching you concentrate on a little plastic flower or bug, and sometimes you mash your hand down on the exersaucer's keyboard so it makes this horrible, stuck-electronic sound - but it doesn't seem to bother you one bit. You just look up at me as if to say, "mama, is this music?" No, dear, it's not. Please, let you have inherited my musical side and not your father's tone-deafness. Like I said, on a good day, that exersaucer will keep you entertained for upwards of an hour, but if you're a little bit fussy, I find myself constantly moving you around to find a position that suits your fancy. Don't like being in the exersaucer? Let's try your little pink playmat. Don't want to be on your back? You roll yourself over to your tummy. Oh, that position isn't pleasing? How about your swing? Nope? Okay, snack time it is, in mama's arms. I'm sad that some day the little bundle of you won't fit into my arms anymore, so I'll revel in it as long as I possibly can.

Love,

Mama