Just like the snap of my fingers, the fifth month of your life has disappeared into the evasive expanse of my memory. My mind's eye is dripping with the tears of formula, pool water and mashed bananas. Where, oh where, has the time gone? I suppose it can be measured in baths and bottles and naps and diapers but regardless of where it's gone, the fact that it's disappeared forever remains.
We've been working on your sitting skills. Sometimes you can sit on your own for several minutes but sometimes it seems that your center of balance is off and you instantly topple over. This month you started rolling from your back to your tummy. You don't do it with great frequency but you're certainly capable. When you're on your belly you try desperately to scoot. Your little legs kick furiously behind you and then you lunge, leading with your forehead, straight ahead. I'd say you generally move about a centimeter and it infuriates you. It all reminds me of when Billy Joel said, "Slow down, you crazy child, you're so ambitious for a juvenile..." You are so ready to chase after your brother and be a big boy. All in due time, son. Have patience. It will all be here before you know it. All that walking and talking and sword fighting and growing. It waits for you. Have some compassion for your mom. Don't grow up too fast.
Our pediatrician is part of a research team delving into the causes of childhood obesity. Some of their research has led them to instruct parents not to start their children on rice cereal but, rather, to go ahead and introduce fruits and vegetables. I fed your brother rice cereal and he certainly isn't obese but since rice cereal looks like already digested cottage cheese and generally does not appeal to my own palate, I figured I'd go ahead and listen to her and start you on the good stuff. In the last week we've fed you mashed bananas and fresh zucchini from our garden. You seem to enjoy it but you are definitely not a proficient eater. Most of your food ends up trapped between your chin and your collar bone. We call that The Land of the
Grandma and Grandpa came this month and we celebrated your brother's third birthday. You enjoyed playing with them and they took you on several walks. You adore going for rides in your stroller or in the wagon when it starts to cool down in the evening. Your grandparents got to witness, firsthand, your terrible temper. They'd seen it before because you had it on display when we were staying with them before we had permission to leave California, but they really got to see it this time. Matthew, you are such a happy little guy--when we're out in public or when you're getting your way. You've always been the little brother so I can't comprehend why you still think the Earth revolves around you, the sun rises and sets with your every whim, the world will end if you don't get picked up right this minute. When you're angry you begin to arch your back. You start to make a sort of hissing sound as your saliva pools under your waggling tongue. Your daddy and I say that you are "spitting venom" because, seriously, you transform into some sort of irritated poisonous snake. Really, child, it's unbecoming. You should stop.
Luckily you're often delightfully happy. You squeal and smile and play and sweetness pours from your skin. I think you just can't wait to talk. I think you have a great deal to say. I think, if you could, you'd declare your undying love for your big brother. All he has to do is walk into a room and you're all smiles and sunshine. The two of you have an incredibly special bond. I'm in no hurry for you to walk and talk because you guys are going to be in major cahoots with one another. It's because of your brother that you remain unconvinced that your name is actually Matthew. Your brother almost exclusively refers to you as Little Buddy. He does it so frequently that your daddy and I both do it too. Little Buddy is a bit of a mouthful so it's been shortened to Little Bud and, recently, Buddy. I think you're uncertain as to whether your official name is Matthew or Buddy. Additionally, I refer to you as Spud. Since Garrett refuses to say S's at the beginning of words, he has taken to also calling you Pud.
We've been spending a lot of time at the pool and you absolutely love it. You are such a water baby. Last night I took you down the twisty water slide and I turned you toward me so that I could see your face. You broke into the biggest grin about halfway down. You're not much of a fan of getting splashed but, well, neither am I. And that's saying something because I'm half German and half Fish. I hardly blame you for making sad faces when a ten-year-old does a cannon ball two feet away from us.
I love you. I love how you constantly play with your feet. I love how you look up at me after your morning bottle and coo with contentment. I love that you know I am your mama and you'll search a room looking for me. I love your precious little life. I love that you're five months old and that, for these past five months, you've always been mine. I will love you forever and I will continue to fight for you.
All my love,