Reflections of Garrett

He's a really fantastic shade of green. Troy and I have decided that Periwinkle and Vibrant Yellow, when mixed together, make Shamrock Green. It's lighter than forest and just a slight bit deeper than a Granny Smith Apple. Which is probably a good thing. My son doesn't want to be referred to as Granny Smith, most likely.

Garrett is six months old today. It's not that I haven't experienced the phenomenon of flying time. Because I have. When I think back, high school flew by in a couple of clock ticks and college was a mere blink of the eye. But both of these circumstances require thinking back. After the fact I realize how quickly the time went. With Garrett, I feel the time whizzing past me. I look at him and he still feels small and helpless but he's so much less small and less helpless than he was six months ago.

I've forgotten so many details of my birth story. Just the other night I recalled how in the hours after my epidural and before his birth I had violent shakes. I couldn't stop shivering with uncontrolable convulsion. I felt cold and tired and ready to get my kid out of me. It was as though my body was trying to shake him from within. I kind of forgot all about those attractive mesh panties you wear once the child has emerged, the ones with the built in pouch for easy insertion of ice. Is that too much information? I forgot about taking a shower about an hour before my epidural and feeling like maybe I would claw the wall because maybe the tile would help me get out of my skin, which is what I really felt like doing. I forgot about all of this because I looked into the perfect eyes of my perfect son. He was small and he didn't move. Except to rip his arms out from being swaddled. He never did like his arms being confined. He weighs 14 pounds now. I guess in the grand scheme of life, 14 pounds is still considered small. But he sits in a high chair and wolfs down baby food with wild abandon. He clings to my side like a little monkey. He laughs. And it is the most delightful sound I think I've ever heard.

I am trying hard to stand in awe of every little thing he does. I am trying to understand that in a few blinks of my sometimes very tired eyes, he will be all grown up and some other woman in some other time will be his everything. He won't cry when I leave a room. He won't even remember to kick his legs happily and smile at me when he sees me for the first time in the morning. He certainly won't grin at me from the bathtub--at least, for both our sakes, I hope he won't. He'll be a man. He's on his way already. And after half a year, I feel nostalgic for July 20, 2006 at 7:30pm. I feel like it was oh so long ago. I feel, in a way, too young to have a six month old.

But all the time. All the while. Every single solitary day. I am blessed to stick him on my hip and carry around the most beautiful shade of green.