Letters to Fraser: Six Months

Dear Fraser,

You've aged out of the hospital moms' group, and I'm no longer supposed to hold you on my lap through my MOPS meetings.

You're officially old.

As I look back on photos from months five to six, I can't hardly believe how much you've changed.

You suddenly became a crazy person every time I set you down on the floor to roll around, and you're already one of those kids who "you just can't take your eye off of for one second." I like to plop you on a big quilt right next to the kitchen so you can play, and I can cook. One day I looked up, and you were inches away from the stone fireplace hearth. You went from stagnant to rolling to straight-up mobile in minutes, it seems.

Your dad and I went out on our first big date last month. We went to the Eric Church concert that toured through town, and your grandma came to babysit. We stayed up way beyond our bedtimes, and you had a rocky night yourself. Everyone said it was good for me to leave you, but I'm glad it was just a handful of hours.

We celebrated St. Paddy's Day, and we took you out to the Gorge for your first hike. I guess you could count hiking in Sunriver when you were five weeks old, but this hike you actually had your eyes open and took in the surroundings. Your dad wore you in the forward-facing carrier, which continues to be your favorite thing. Every time I put it on you light up, and I can't hardly strap you into it because your legs are kicking with delight.

Your great-grandma fell and broke her hip, so we took a day trip down to visit your Albany fan club, hoping to make spirits bright. Your little smile and bobble-headed curiosity seemed to be just the medicine.

What else can I say about this last month? I wanted to wait until your official six-month birthday, but I started running with you in the stroller at about five-and-a-half months. I think you like it, though you take better naps when I'm just walking. We also gave you rice cereal for the first time, which you amazingly gobbled right up.

Your nights have been all over the board, and I know it's because you're growing and changing so much. You've always been a wonderful sleeper, so any night out of our "ordinary" definitely calls for an extra cup of coffee in the morning.

I don't know if I've mentioned it in a letter, but I'm saying goodbye to my job so I can stay home with you. I've been on leave for these six months, and I'm working part-time from home for several weeks, but then it's bye-bye to the corporate life. Someday I hope we can chat about what a crazy thing this was and is. And someday soon, I hope I can write about that, too.

We're just days away from the end of busy tax season for your dad, and we have a laundry list of places to explore and things to see as a family.

You're a wonderful sidekick, and I really can't think about life without you now. I wonder what this next half-year will bring. Sunshine and a return to family life.

I love you, Fraser Mary, I don't know what else to say!

Love,
Mom

Parents gone wild...Fras, we left you for the evening with your nana...but we were back to say goodnight!  

First big hike in the gorge

Still spitting up...everywhere...all the time

Still a champ at snoozing in your seat 

Letters to Fraser: Five Months

Dear Fraser,

Wow. You're as many months as fingers on your hand. 

You are full of personality, and you express these glimpses of who you'll be someday. Like when you're whipping your arm back and forth full-throttle I think, "Could you be a hitter on a volleyball team or a pitcher someday?" Then I laugh to myself because maybe you'll have no interest in sports. 

You're rolling back and forth on the floor so much that I worry you're going to be crawling before we know it. I can't hardly give you a bath without you nearly flipping yourself out of the tub. 

We want to take you swimming because you still enjoy bath time so much...unless you're over-tired, and then you don't like anything except nursing and hitting the hay. I don't blame you. 

We aren't on a schedule, really, but we do have a nice daily routine. Once you're awake for a couple hours, we bundle up and head out into the elements, no matter the weather. You love that stroller cocoon, and next month, I'm going to be running behind it. In the afternoons, I'm trying to settle you into a crib nap, but every day is different. You always let me know when you're done playing and ready to rest. 

Right now, dear ol' Dad is working a lot, so he tries to make the most of his morning time with you, and you're a real gem in the mornings. Smiles for days, giggles, and snuggles. You also seem to know when it's the weekend because you like to lounge a little longer those days. Our days are a little long right now, when it's just you and me, and you're asleep before Dad's home from work, but you've continued to be such a good baby for me that I really have nothing to complain about. 

We've been making the most of our Sundays with little day trips and adventures in brewery touring. You absolutely loved the coast, which made your dad beam with pride. He must talk about wearing you in a backpack and heading out to fish together every weekend. There are so many outdoor adventures we just can't wait to do as a family. Do you think you're ready to camp this summer because we sure do. 

In the here and now, we love our Mondays at library music time, Fridays at the grocery store (I call you the mayor of the grocery store because you LOVE walking the aisles in the Baby Bjorn, smiling and flailing your arms around at anyone who will look our way)...and our Wednesdays at the hospital "new moms" group. But our time is limited, as you're about to age out of that group. How is this happening? There are moms with 8-week-old babies, and I think to myself "I can relate," except I can't. We're in a new stage, and you're the complete opposite of a laid-back newborn. 

I want to write everything down, like how you're sleeping and your daily milestones. But things are happening too rapidly, and I can't hardly sit down and write your monthly letter. You just started kicking water in the little bathtub, and you're sleeping with a lovie. You're starting to look like a big baby, not my tiny baby who wasn't really growing much last month. You're in 6-month clothing...what? What is happening? I cannot keep up.

I want to remember everything but some things are already a blur. I know I'll never forget when I was making dinner one night last week, and you were really starting to melt down. I threw you in a wrap to wear you, which is something I do quite frequently. Apparently, I thought it was an OK idea to try and make a whole roasted chicken in the cast iron skillet...while wearing a baby. I had the pan searing hot on the stove, and I bent over to tie the legs of the chicken together--all while wearing  you--and you decided to slip yourself right on out of that wrap. Thank God I was able to cross my hands together, just in the nick of time. Otherwise, your poor little head would have landed right on top of the raw chicken in our sink. I immediately washed one hand at a time, turned off the stove, hugged you close, and took you straight to the bathtub. Because dropping you has always been a fear of mine, I said a quiet prayer of thanks that this happened in a controlled environment, and then I vowed to make simpler recipes until I have another set of hands around during dinnertime. I should note that this sequence of events occurred shortly after I declared how I was going to start a blog or Instagram or something to inspire new moms to keep on cooking, even if they have to wear their babies. Hmmm. Maybe not so much? 

Thank you for being an incredible little human. You make my days happy--even the long and gloomy ones--and you've got a special twinkle in your eyes that just keeps getting brighter.

Love, 

Mom