Six months. Half a year. It is, without a doubt, impossible that you have been here for that long. You barrelled into your seventh month of life in southern California. Apparently, I've already been out of high school for ten years--at least, that's what they keep telling me--and we decided to attend my reunion. We drove down to San Diego and, once again, you proved to be a magnificent traveler. Since the drive was over three hours shorter than the trip to Oregon that we took in June, you were happy the entire time. All twelve hours and fifty minutes of the ride. Of course, we did break it up over two days which meant that you got to play with Auntie and Uncle Ronnie in Hurricane. You adore them, but then, who doesn't?
There's something I've been meaning to talk to you about. See, your brother refused to crawl and I was all, What's wrong with you, kid? Are you never going to move? Are you going to be stationary your entire life? And then, at 8.5 months, he took off crawling fast enough to slaughter the competition in a diaper derby, if I'd ever entered him in one. He was into everything and I was left to wonder why I'd ever wished mobility upon him. Being that you're number two, I have not been in a hurry for you to reach any major milestones. Oh sure, it's exciting when you learn how to move and develop but, honestly, you can lay on the floor like an adorable little blob of immobility for several months for all I care. You've slept through the night for four months and that's all I really care about. So why, pray tell, are you crawling? Why, at six months and four days, did you get up on all fours and scoot forward in what can only be referred to as rudimentary crawling? Slow down! I'm not planning on having any more babies and I don't want you to grow up too fast.
This month you met your birth father for the first time. Well, alright, so technically I guess that half of you is rather well acquainted with him but it's the first time you met with, like, all 46 of your chromosomes. The meeting went better than we could have ever expected and I was left with the feeling that you are a very lucky little boy. I know that there will be days when you feel confused and angry and wonder, perhaps, why all of this happened to you. But I hope that you realize, one day, how immeasurably you are loved by so many people. Your mother loved you so much that she gave you to our keeping. Hers was not an easy sacrifice and I know that she misses you tremendously. Her amazing love for you has kept you here, in our home. Your father loves you so much that he can't imagine his future without you and he was so proud of you and the amazing little baby you've grown into. And your daddy, brother, extended adopted family and I have loved you with all that we are since the moment we found out you existed. Truly, the love we have for you cannot be qualified. You are ours in every way that matters.
You still have wildly insane temper tantrums but, thankfully, they are less frequent. Your new found mobility has made you much happier. We are incredibly glad that the more mobile you get the less you throw psychotic fits. The fact that you adore your jumper and would spend hours a day in it if I'd let you has also reduced your tantrum throwing.
You've started burying your head in my chest, on occasion, and snuggling in for a cuddle. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't one of my most favorite things about you right now. Some of my other favorite things include your incessant giggle when we tickle you, the fact that you'll sit with your brother and play toys like a big boy, your love for the dog and the smile you get on your face when you can grab his feet or ears, and, as always, your adoration of Garrett.
Every day. Every single day you smile at him like this. And every single day he smiles like that at you. If the devastating should happen and we should lose you, I hope that, one day, you come to understand how very much Garrett loved you. I hope that you know that yours truly was the bond of brothers. Separated by biology. Separated by race. Bound by a love that I've rarely seen between a three-year-old and a six-month-old. Matthew, you are his best friend.
You belong to all of us and none of us. You are God's. Your life is in His hands. I am so thankful for the last six months of kissing your delicious skin, snuggling your chubby body, and loving you like crazy. It blows my mind that you're half a year old. Not so fast, son. There's just no need to grow up quite so fast...
I love you. Always. Forever. No matter what.