I am not going to tell you the past six months flew by.  They didn’t.  The days have been long.  Sometimes hard.  But mostly amazing.

At the risk of sounding completely sappy, watching Wyatt grow and change over the past six months have been my greatest gift.  Even on the hard days when I’m tired and smelly and hungry, there’s still no shortage of joy.

At his six month checkup we weighed in at a whopping 20 pounds 4 ounces.  The boy loves to eat!  And I won’t lie, I love his sweet little jelly rolls.  I nibble his legs at least once an hour.  Unless he’s sleeping.  I’m not insane.  Well, not completely insane.

He’s still working on a couple of teeth but he’s handling it like a trooper.  Teeth ripping through his gums? No problem. Sitting in a poopy diaper for 30 seconds?  End of the world.

We’ve also taken the leap into real food.  He loves bananas.  He’s indifferent about pumpkin.  And, that’s about it.  I’m trying to obey the one-new-food-a-week rule.  It’s hard.  I think we’re moving onto carrots next.  I literally cannot wait.  I wish I could  get that excited about eating carrots myself.

He rolls over like a champion.  It’s his main form of locomotion these days.  Hey, whatever gets you from point A to point B buddy.  He tries desperately to crawl but can’t quite put all the pieces together.  I’m not complaining.  Both the dog and I know our lives won’t ever be the same once this kid is fully mobile.

He also sits up really well, but still needs some support.  I told him not to worry about it.  I’m 31 and still fall over sometimes.  And not always just because I’ve had half a bottle of wine with dinner.

I feel pretty blessed to have the chance to see him grow everyday.  To be there for all the tears and giggles and stubborn fits and smiles.  It might be insane to wish for a life filled with dirty diapers and puke-stained shirts and three-day-old unwashed hair and eating food that’s gone cold and sleep deprivation and – well you get the idea.  But it is what I wished for and it’s better than I thought it would be.  I’m looking forward to six more months of it.

I was going to write a long and sappy tribute to my mom.  I’d tell you how amazing she is and how thankful I am to have her for a mom and a friend.  Because those things are true.  But she already knows I feel that way.

This year I just want to tell her that I get it now.  I understand the mental, emotional and spiritual toll of motherhood.  I understand that even after the day is through and our babies sleep, we never stop.  Even in our deepest of sleep motherhood stirs in us.  We don’t totally belong to ourselves anymore.  And we just let it happen.  We let motherhood rock our worlds and rip us up and put us back together in a different way, knowing tomorrow it might just happen all over again.  And we happily commit to a lifetime of it.  It defies logic.

I didn’t know.  I didn’t know it would be this terrifying and beautiful at the same time.

How do I properly thank my mom for being willing to go through all of that for me?   There aren’t enough words.  So I’ll just say I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

Last week was a tough one and a cheery week in review doesn’t quite seem appropriate.  Our family lost a dear friend to cancer.  She and her husband have known my parents since before I was born.  To call them just friends isn’t quite right.  They’re family too and her loss has been tough to handle.

Just before Christmas she was diagnosed with lung cancer that spread to her brain and bones.  The outlook was never good, but she was a brave woman who stared a  devastating diagnosis in the face and fought it to the very end.  She passed away peacefully with just her mom by her side after everyone had left to give them a moment alone.

Monica was a wonderful woman, wife, mother, daughter, sister and friend.  She was kind and funny.  I will never forget her laugh.  Nobody laughed quite like Monica.  I am so thankful for all the memories of her I get to carry with me.  And I’m particularly thankful that she and Wyatt were able to be a part of each other’s lives, even if for a brief time.  She was so excited that I was having a baby and when Wyatt finally arrived I think she was just about as happy as my own mom was about it.  I know she would have been like his third grandma.  And I think when I show Wyatt this picture when he’s older, that’s exactly what I’ll call her:

It seems so surreal that just a few months ago we were laughing and she was rubbing my belly at my baby shower.  And now she’s just gone.  It makes you realize that you have to live for right now.  You have to appreciate the time you get with people you love.  You have to tell people you love them.

In the end Monica reported seeing angels in her hospital room.  I believe it.  And I believe they were there when she drew her last breath and I believe they ushered her to her final home.  The pain of losing her is made a bit more bearable knowing that her suffering has ended and that, as my mom puts it, she’s onto her next great adventure.