Half a year.

This is a quick one because I am so completely overworked and overwhelmed and busy being your Mom. Hudson, you hit six months old and transformed from a squirmy little baby to a little person just aching to GO and DO and SEE and BE all sorts of exciting things. Crawling seems like it must be just around the corner, and you can keep yourself amused for ages in your bouncy seat, kicking off hard then tucking your feet up underneath you and grinning like a madman while you bounce in midair. You're eating half a dozen "solid" foods (which are still mush, but make your poo completely normal instead of terrifyingly...er...gooey) and making some incredible consonant sounds. I swear, you actually said "ma-ma" the other morning, but I'm pretty sure you were facing directly into my armpit at the time, so I'm not going to count that as the real thing until I can attribute it accurately.

So often in your life, I've waited with bated breath for the next thing to happen. You smirked a few times, then for days I anxiously hovered over you waiting for a smile. That first real smile happened, and then I was obsessed with hearing you laugh. Months later, when we could tickle your ribs and get belly laughs out of you, I found myself longing for a deliberate, intentional hug. It's always something with me, isn't it? This week, when you have made some of the most amazing strides all compressed into one short burst out of any chunk of your life to date, I'm finding myself almost wishing for you to slow down. Yeah, that first real hug will be amazing, but it will also signal an end to the time when I could just scoop you up, snuggle you, and tell myself that I was giving you exactly what you needed then because nothing you did suggested that you wanted anything else. Maybe you didn't, but as soon as you have the power to express your opinions, I will sometimes do the wrong thing, and that will suck.

I've been remiss in writing for the last while. Really, your Dad and I have just been working on finding our stride. We do a kind of crap job actually accomplishing the tasks we need to get done (it took me almost a week to send a single email, I manage not to return phone calls for days, and I'm sure I have a goodly handful of appointments for my own care that I need to get sorted before school starts up again in a month), and frankly, this summer has been pretty hot and gross, so spending most of a day in the air conditioned bedroom playing with your colored stacking cups sounds a hell of a lot better than actually being productive anywhere else. I keep telling myself that in a year...five years...ten years...thirty years...longer...I won't regret not spending ten minutes on the phone to get our car insurance tweaked, but I would sure as hell regret not spending the same ten minutes sitting on the bed with you resting against my bent knees while I jiggle your arms and sing silly songs to you. I have half a dozen posts half-written, some even more so, but you have this nasty tendency of waking up every time I get into the swing of anything, so I'm going to cut myself off now and go have ice cream before you rouse yourself for another snack.

Hudson, you are taking up every moment of my time, and it's wonderful.