You are learning to sit, and you just started eating solids with gusto. You are tiny and petite, and no one guesses you are really 6 months old, but your doc is way impressed with your growth rate. You no longer resemble the frail tiny bird we brought home from the hospital. You have perfect little baby rolls and folds, chubby cheeks, and a sweet button nose. Your hair is a soft cloud of tight curls. You are starting to teethe, so right now your chin is wet and your mouth is often open, seeking something to chomp. As I type, you are starting to slide backwards on the floor, so life is about to change again for all of us.
You are happiest when you can watch both big brothers tear it up. No one can make you laugh like the Nugget can. You have a medley of burbly giggles that crescendos to a hissing, "Kee-eee-eee-ssshhh," a little like Ernie on Sesame Street. (And it is not lost on me that Spork laughs like Bert.) You are not a sympathetic crier like Spork, rather, you seem to double your efforts to smile and gurgle when he cries as if to say, "Life is too short to fuss!" Your relationship with him is not-surprisingly twin-like. You are competitors and partners. Sometimes you lock eyes and hold hands, and it's like witnessing magic.
You are comfortable in most pairs of arms, but your eyes are ever seeking me. It's an honor and a fear, because I am not the one deciding your future, I can't promise you that I'll always be there for you. But I push those fears to the side, because the greatest gift is being able to be your Mima today, and today, I am here for you.