Friday, January 15, 2010

On Six Months

We are celebrating Lucy's half-birthday. I recommended half-cupcakes in honor of the occasion; alas, no. But here I am, 6 months into my daughters life. I am fully invested in diapers and bottles (again) and making our own baby food. Fully immersed in getting her to roll over, crawl forward, sit up and laugh. Laughing the best part. Lucy, like her brother, loves to laugh. Mostly at him. The way he dances about and sings songs to her. Her laugh is true and simple, full to the brim with happiness and joy. And like the best of all laughs, utterly contagious.

With Lucy it's been a different experience entirely. And not because she's a girl or because she's the almost opposite of Isaac in temperament. But because I'm around. I was around for Isaac, always. But I wasn't home for Isaac. And wow what I missed -- I realize now. I am home now. For four of the six months. Like I said, fully in the process of her growing up. Right before my eyes.

Being home has been a blessing. How Jen and I did it before, I don't know. Why we did, I don't know -- I do, but... This is better. Raising your kids is better. Watching Lucy outgrow clothes isn't as sad, because you realize she's worn that outfit everyday for two months because she goes through six outfits a day because she throws up all the time (ask Isaac, "she spits up", he'll say. He'll also jump out of the way if she even burps and he's across the room to begin with. "She can't spit up that far Isaac," we'll say. But it doesn't matter).

Lucy hasn't outgrown many clothes. She's little. Maybe a little too little even. Enough that we're monitoring it. Increasing food where we need to. Some of it may be because of the September scare she gave us -- in the hospital for almost three days. But she's little -- she'll be little. But man can she eat. Out eats her brother at this age. Complains to me because she's hungry after I've just fed her three helpings of sweet potatoes.

Have I mentioned the laughter? That our house is filled with it? We named her in part because her name meant light. And she's brought light to the house -- to other people (see previous entry). But she's brought the lightness of merriment. Of joy unmitigated by constraints of time. There has been time aplenty for her to laugh and smile and cackle, and time for me to enjoy it. So maybe that's it. Maybe that's where her light to me has been cast: showing me the absolute importance of time and of making time.

And in one more place: she lights up when I enter a room. Literally lights up. A switch goes on. A jolt of energy released. A 108-minute button never pushed. Smiles, eyes wide and blue. Recognizes and exudes a smile of recognition and happiness when she sees me. There is no feeling that encompasses that moment. No real way to describe it. You know it when you see it. When it blinds you.

















And you never forget it.