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Little Girl,

Yesterday you turned six months old. A half year. This is impossible, isn't it? Wasn't it yesterday that you made your debut in that dimly-lit labor and delivery room? It was a Sunday morning. I realize something now. Sundays have always been tough, soggy days for me, days laced with soulfulness and sadness. But no longer. Since the day you were born, things have shifted. Sundays are good days. Family days. Thank you for this, my girl.

Thank you for so many things. For making me stop. And see. For making me ride the ripples of laughter, treasure the towers of toys, savor the sunny smiles. Thank you for making me surrender to the swell of the good life that is mine, is ours, for compelling me to stand, ever-unprepared but hopeful, as the wonderful waves - of parenthood, of personhood, of existence - buffet me. And make me.

And make you.

You.

A little person at just six months. Yesterday morning, Daddy announced something to your sisters, something grand. Girls! he proclaimed. Your little sister is a half! And for these creatures, the girls you worship, this was, is, big. They are all about fractions. And half? That's big-time.

The past six months haven't been a breeze for me, or for any of us really. But they have been beautiful months, months jammed with the stuff of life and love, months riddled with moments magical and mundane, always meaningful. And here we are. One half year into your life, into our final family's existence, and I am struck with a cacophony of conflicting emotions. Stop growing! Stay little! Evolve! Become big!

Alas. It is not up to me anyway. You will do your thing. You will grow and change and emerge. You will overwhelm us and amaze us. You will keep our hearts soft, our eyes open. But here is a bit about you today: You have a head full of white-blond fuzz. It sticks straight up and out. Mom says it's exactly like my baby hair. Your eyes are vast and almond-shaped, an electric blue. Your cheeks are impressively chunky. You are now sitting up, facing the world. You are now rolling over. You are now sleeping well, snoring softly. When I get you in the morning your smile is legendary and you do a little wiggle dance.

You are already a social creature. You have a slight preference for Mommy which I love, but you are not stingy with smiles. You have friends. I adore this picture of you and your buddy C. That was a good day, wasn't it? The two of you on your bellies, ruffles on your rears, chubby legs kicking, celebrating.

And this? This is a picture of you and my mommy Moo Moo. She held you on Labor Day as we were packing up to head home from Grammy and Dad-Dad's. Though it wasn't nap-time, you nestled in and your eyes grew heavy. And I watched as you slipped into a sweet slumber. I watched as you snuggled there, wrapped in the arms that once held me tight. Arms that still do.

Honestly? This is hard for me. That you are getting bigger so fast. But this is also wonderful for me. A real treat. Watching you take on the world, a good world, your world. Our world. I love you, little creature. More than you will ever know. To tiny, itty-bitty pieces.

Happy six months, my babe.

Love,

Mommy

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If so inclined, take a moment and wish my little girl a happy day. And tell me that I am not alone in simultaneously wanting time to slow and speed. Is six months long or short?

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