This little lovebug is six months old now. It sounds as ridiculous to me as saying I graduated from high school 12 years ago. But it is true. And there's something about six months that says baby rather than infant. The distinction is slight but when it siphons into my heart, it feels mountainous.
He doesn't cry with an indecipherably thin wail anymore. He grunts with boredom. He whimpers with hunger. He squeals with laughter. He mumbles with sleepiness. His voice carries intent that my ears can finally understand. There is communication happening.
He tells jokes with punchlines of burbling spit bubbles and bumbling raspberries. When he smiles, it seems to be because he is proud of the smile. He is pleased with himself, rather than amused by the wildly animated human doing tricks before him. And his laugh...it is slow to unfold. Gritty and halting. Though his smiles are effusive, his laughter is restrained somehow. He is a tough crowd. But he is a cuddly crowd; a relaxed crowd.
His eyes are diligent and alert, shining with soft caramel centers and circled by deep gray-blue -- an exact combination of his parents' eyes. Justin crows with pride that one of our children finally seems to be heading towards brown eyes rather than my bloodlines' trademark blue. We both crow with pride at every single molecule of this boy's being. A while ago, I sat in front of Justin after we'd gotten all the kids to bed and said Thank you. THANK YOU for giving me this sweet boy. Feeling poured out of my heart and bled into my words, and we laughed at my motherish exultation.
Landon is my dollbaby. He is my cuddlebug. He is my precious, my loverboy, and my bubbakins. And he is growing, and I am present. And we are happy.