Dear Maly,
You turned five-months-old today. You’ve had quite an eventful month. We started out the month by flying to Des Moines for your baptism. You were cleansed of the original sin and now I’m compelled to call you Moddy Eedizibud.
The Sunday after your baptism, while lying on your back on your grandparents’ living room floor, you rolled completely over onto your stomach and then pushed your body up off of the floor with your arms. You wouldn’t believe the squeals and applause that this event garnered. Your mom and grandparents were pretty impressed, too.
Traveling to Des Moines meant that you were able to experience flying in an airplane for the first time. I was worried that you would be afraid of the bumping as the plane took off, the change in cabin pressure or the turbulence. Just as the plane began accelerating for take off, you conked out in my arms and slept nearly the entire way. I like to think I protected you by holding you.
The plane ride home wasn’t as calm and uneventful. I’m not going to name names here but your mom thought it would be a good idea to book our returning flight during your “witching hour”. You screamed, squirmed and complained for the duration of the first leg of the flight home. There was a twenty-something childless couple sitting a few rows ahead of us and they both looked back at me every time you started to whimper. Using my honed non-verbal confrontational communication method I warned that should either of them looked back as us again I would smash their faces in with one of my flip flops.
When we arrived home, we maintained your regular night time ritual by bathing you and putting you in bed by 8 p.m. but instead of putting you down in your cradle by your mom’s side of the bed, we put you in your crib. In your OWN ROOM. I didn’t sleep well at all that night. I missed you.
We’ve been feeding you new foods now. We started you on rice cereal at the beginning of your fifth month and oatmeal just today. You’ve taken both very well. Your mom is still better at feeding you than I am. I get more on you than in you.
Two weekends ago your mom went to the store alone while you and I hung out at the house. You and I are both prone to going stir crazy so I decided we need to go for a walk.
With you in tote I grabbed your Jeep stroller and lugged the both of you to your mom’s and my bedroom to get prepared for our stroll. I propped you up tripod-style on the floor near me so I could unfold the stroller. I stood up, turned toward the stroller and immediately felt the urge to turn back to check on you. When I did, I saw the beginning of your ungraceful face plant. I was a foot too far and a nanosecond too late. You had already toppled and on the way down, you whacked your head against the wooden TV stand. I knew what was coming next so I immediately scooped you up, cradled you and kissed you and kissed you and kissed you and promised that that would never happen again. You cried that distinct cry that bitterly reminded me that I neglected you for a fraction of a second. I clenched my eyes, softly squeezed you against my body and kissed you again like it might be my last chance to hold you. You stopped crying. You knew that I was there to protect you.
You are such an unbelievable little person now. You talk and sing and giggle and every day I just want to hug you so hard that you permeate my chest and sink into my heart where I can protect you forever.
I will always protect you, Sugar.
Love,
Daddy