Six months old...almost

Dear Harlow,

The word on the street is that your cast is coming off on Friday which makes us both excited and kind of nervous. The cast has kind of turned into a defacto womb; as long as your leg is inside it, my mommy logic tell me you can't get hurt any worse than you did. I also wonder if three weeks with a dumbbell strapped to your leg has given you super bionic baby strength, that you'll mean to roll yourself over and wind up braining yourself with your bionic foot. Cause that would kinda be funny. I have to say that I'm ready for the cast to be gone. If one more person turns to me with big eyes and says "That's the smallest widdle cast I've ever seen," I will take said widdle cast off your leg and beat them with it.

I've been a bit crabby. I think you've noticed.


I'll admit I was also worried that along with your femur, I managed to break your spirit. You've been kinda crabby, too, and yes there is the matter of your broken bone and that rash and the congestion and the bug bites and the general staring at the ceiling while your leg healed, but hey, why did you have to seem so sad? Were you worried, like me, that the injury was gonna slow you down? Yeah, turns out we were silly monkeys.

You are super baby! You are laughing and shrieking and singing just to see how far you can throw that voice of yours. After deciding that yes, cast tastes good, you are rolling around with that sucker willy nilly, stomping on my feet with it (payback, I suppose) and even using it as an anchor so you can sit up. How about that? You are sitting up. Kind of.

I won't go into the poop. I'll save the poop post for another day as soakng your loaded pjs in the toilet have made me a bit weary of the topic, but I will say that never in my life did I think I would talk so much about another human being's poop as I do yours.

Sweet potato poo.

Ew.

Anyway. On Saturday you turn six months old. You will be in Los Angeles, the city where you were made, so in a way it'll be a homecoming for all of us. There will be hikes and Indian food and multitudes of aunts and sweaters in the evenings and farmers markets and Silverlake and Malibu and pinkberry and just a little bit of that magic that lured your mom and dad into its glam little web. We hope you like it, too.