Sweet little mooseling, you are the happiest, most easygoing baby I have ever encountered. You do have rare fussy spells, but they're uncommon and usually pass quickly, leaving a sunny dimpled smile behind. When I come to pick you up from Grandma and Grandpa's at the end of the day, you break into a huge smile upon seeing me, excitedly flapping your arms and bouncing your legs as if you could lift off and leap into my arms. I'm happy to lift you up and bury my face in your sweet neck, your not-quite-bald fuzzy head. You're the best kind of second child, blithely riding along on all your busier brother's adventures. And you do literally ride along, going most places strapped to my chest in your Beco. Sometimes you want out to explore a little on your own, but mostly you're happy to watch the world from your snug carrier, taking breaks sometimes to drink a bottle or catch a quick nap.
You're a big moose of a baby, with a perfectly round face and glorious soft fat thighs. At your last well baby visit you measured in the 90th percentile for weight and were off the chart for height. At the children's museum a few weeks ago we met a walking, talking toddler who weighed two pounds less than you. It's funny to see you in all the clothes your brother was wearing as a crawler, while you still haven't even ventured up onto your hands and knees at all yet. This past week I brought the twelve-month clothes down from the attic, worried you'd outgrow my favorites before you even got to wear them.
You still prefer to nurse only when it's easy, but when you do nurse you nurse well. I'm finally making enough milk to keep you fed and your thigh rolls fully stocked. Now that you're six months old we'll probably start offering you fruit and cereal soon, but I'm not in a hurry. While it hasn't always been easy, I'll forever be grateful that I was able to breastfeed you. I hope we get to continue for quite a while.
Over the past month or two you've started to interact more with your world, and you're always eager to grab things and put them in your mouth. You can roll easily both ways but aren't quite ready to sit up on your own. Much to my chagrin you love television, and will twist your little body into impossible yoga contortions to try to watch TV in restaurants or at home where I've placed you deliberately facing away from it. You're the star of our monthly book discussion group, charming all the ladies with your pleasant behavior, gummy grins, and appropriately-themed onesies. Your chronically crusty eye seems to have suddenly and completely cleared up, from a frightful mess one day to totally normal the next. Today you splashed happily in your little bathtub for the first time, after initially not being a huge bath fan. I'm hoping we can start baby swimming lessons in a few months and that you'll enjoy them.
You still love your bouncy chairs (though I think you'll probably outgrow them soon), and will happily bounce yourself for quite a while. You're unfailingly patient with your brother's displays of affection. You've started self-soothing by sucking on the middle two fingers of your right hand and as much as I cringe to think of the future orthodontic bills, it's really adorable.
Life is definitely busier with two kids and there are days when I feel like we barely got to spend time together. Sometimes on those nights, I'll sit in the rocking chair in your room for an hour or more, holding you while you sleep, just trying to drink in a little bit more of you before the next day rolls around and sweeps us up again. I don't feel you're neglected, but I do miss having the time to read you book after book or take long, lazy naps with you the way I did with your brother. I try to trust that the unique gifts you have as my second child will make up for the things you don't get since you're not my first.
When you were born, I thought you'd be my last baby. Your daddy and I had agreed (reluctantly on my part) to stop after two kids. Now we aren't so sure, and while we're not ready to commit fully to having a third, we're also not shutting the door. I try to enjoy everything about your babyhood both in case you are my last and just because you are such a wonderful baby. If we do have another, count that as a credit to you, because you're so spectacular that I wish I could have five more just like you.
I'm endlessly curious to see how you'll differ from your brother as you grow and how you'll be similar. Before you were born, when I imagined you I always pictured you as a smaller version of him. I knew that you'd be different, but since I'd only ever had one baby, that's the baby I imagined again. People say you look similar, but I don't see it too much (other than the roundness, which he also had at your age). I think you look more like me, or at least you've got some of the best of my features. Of course I'm biased but I think you might just be the cutest baby of all time. You're a bright ray of sunshine, illuminating all my days (and blessedly few of my nights), and I'm so very grateful for you.
You are a blessing and a gift and a wonder.