Last week you turned six months old, which, in case you don't want to do the math (which would definitely make you your mother's daughter), is half a year.
Half a year.
You haven't merely recovered from your rocky start. You've blossomed. Thrived. You've taken that rocky start, given it a wedgie, cussed it up and down and dropkicked it into some unknown dimension. That seems to be your style.
Lately, you've become the Jedi Master of rolling. For a long time you could flop from back to front ... aaaaand that was about it. You'd get tired of being on your belly and scream until someone came to your rescue. Now you can roll onto your belly, spot a toy nearby that you'd like to maul, roll back over to grab it, and return to your belly to commence the mauling. Psh, you don't even need us anymore.
You're also starting to experiment with movement in a different direction: forward. I don't know if you're officially scooting yet, but perhaps we can call it scootching. You roll onto your belly, then stick your tiny butt in the air and sometimes ... sometimes ... you get a knee or two under you and worm your way forward. Your favorite place to do this, evidently, is in your crib. We'll put you down for a nap in the middle of your mattress only to find you all the way at the top of it when we check back in two minutes later. You work fast. And sneakily. And you are making your dad go bald(er).
A few new noises have been added to your portfolio this week. The first really can't be called anything other than what it is: demonic growling. You babble, then grin at us, then go "Grrrrraaaaaaaaahhhh!" and we wait for your head to spin all the way around on your little neck. Then we wait for you to eat our brains. This is especially alarming when paired with your other new noise, which is considerably more awesome. Somewhere in your babbling, you frequently say "mama." I mean, sure, it's more like "BAAAA! Mmmm emmmm aaaaahhh gggga ba baa ma ma maaaaaaaaaa gga baaa." But "mama" is in there, and it melts my heart every time. Even when you follow it up with a fearsome growl. "Ma ma! GRRRRAAAAAHH!" I'm pretty sure it's Baby for "Imma eat ur brains."
You've had quite the social life the past few weeks. You went to the state fair and didn't melt down from the crowds or the noise, even though your mom and dad wanted to a few times. You hung out at a Mazda dealership and cuted us into a good deal on a new car that fits all of your stuff. You had visits from all the grandparents, visits from your Uncle Nick and Aunt Ashley, and a nice phone call from your Aunt Liz, whom you hung up on. Twice. Perhaps you'll treat your brand new girl cousin, Frances, more kindly when she calls. Or maybe you two will just chat on the Twitters or whatever the hell it is kids do on teh Internets these days.
All the books, the wise old stranger ladies, and even normal people we actually listen to say six months is a major milestone in terms of when a lot of the suck subsides and some of the fun of having a baby begins. And, dangit, it might just be true. You're sleeping through the night now, you like to go places, and when you cry we can generally (as in, maybe slightly more than half the time) tell what's wrong and attempt to fix it and soothe you. Which, much to our surprise, often works these days. Your personality and sense of humor, evil as it is, are shining through and you're just generally a lot of fun to be with.
Thanks for hanging in there with us, little one, in ways big and small, and for being the most wonderful part of our lives. And thanks, also, for not eating our brains.
Mama and Daddy