You're 5 months old today, and it seems like every time I turn around, I'm writing one of these letters. Time is flying by. I was looking through your photo album the other day, and I was amazed at how much you've changed over the course of 5 months. You're literally twice as big as you were when you were born, and your perfect little features have become so much more pronounced. You were beautiful then, and you're beautiful now, but you look so, so different.
I can't believe how much you've learned to do in 5 months, either. When we first brought you home from the hospital, you were such a helpless little guy. You cried, ate, pooped, and just lay there. Don't get me wrong—we thought you were amazing, and you were, but you can do so much now! You're still pretty helpless, I suppose, but now, you laugh and giggle and babble away (when you wake up in the morning, you spend a half hour talking to the air before you scream and make me get up with you). You reach for things, hold onto toys, and maneuver your teething ring into your mouth. You kick your leg to make your bouncy seat bounce, jump in your jumperoo (with a pillow under your feet because you're still a little too short for this), and, as of about two weeks ago, roll over like it's your job. You've discovered that if a toy is out of reach, you can roll over to get to it, you smarty.
One of your most interesting developments this month is that you've fallen in love with Scooter. Your eyes follow him when he walks by you, you reach out to grab him (good thing he's so mild mannered; you've probably yanked about 10 pounds of hair out of his body, and he never bats an eye), and when your daddy makes him "speak," you laugh hysterically. You two are going to be best buddies.
Also of note, you went on your first road trip two weeks ago. We drove to Michigan to see your cousins, and I still can't believe what a good boy you were. There and back is a ten-hour trek, and you spent the majority of the ride sleeping. During our visit, you were a dream baby. You got to swing in a real swing for the very first time, which you really enjoyed—and you just chilled the whole time, perfectly content as you were passed from person to person. We're going to do our best to take you out and about with us as much as possible, because we want you to stay outgoing like this.
Unfortunately, your sleep update isn't a great one. You're pretty inconsistent when it comes to sleeping at night. You've given us a few decent nights this month, and just when I think you're really turning over a new leaf, you throw us a curve ball and wake up 6 times in one night. We've started putting you in your bouncy seat to sleep, which seems to be helping. This is proof that your stupid reflux is what's been preventing good nights; the angle of the bouncy seat keeps the acid from rising into your throat. I hate that you're still dealing with this. It isn't fair. You had an especially rough reflux week last week—lots of crying, spitting up, writing in pain—and your pediatrician referred us to a specialist. We go in 3 days , and I hope they have a solution for us. There's nothing that hurts me more than knowing you're hurting.
While I'm on the subject of hurting, let me add that you unwittingly helped me survive some serious heartache this month. You've enveloped this house in a layer of joy that little stressors and sorrows just can't quite get through, and even the deepest hurt is no match for the happiness you bring. I was so sad, and then I pulled you close to me and cried and cried and cried, and then I was okay again—because I have you. Try as I might, I'll never be able to put into words how much I adore you—but I know you'll always know. Not a week goes by where I don't tear up just because you're so amazing. You have the same effect on that sweet daddy of yours. Two nights ago, he cried while he watched you nap in your swing. When I asked him why he was crying, he said, "Because he's beautiful." You are, kid, and you've stolen our hearts completely.