The tiny trooper is six months old today.
That’s half way to her first birthday. That’s half a year after her birth. Wow.
Amelia is, to everyone’s eyes, flourishing. She uses her hands like an old pro and can scoot and roll just enough to recapture toys that have rolled away. She loves solid food. She loves the cat. She loves us.
And I’m doing well too. I can walk and swing a pickax and do situps like nothing ever happened. Sparks and I are both getting sleep (Amelia has gone from 7pm to 7am without waking up twice in the last three days). We are old hats at this diaper/bottle/bedtime thing.
This half-year is feeling pretty bittersweet to me, though. They grow up so fast. I’m finding myself reading journal entries I wrote in the first days after her birth, and crying, both because that tiny newborn is gone forever and because I feel so sorry for poor, bewildered me in those days. I wish I could somehow go back in time and help myself. Oh well, I’ll be older and wiser if there’s a next time.