She's trying desperately hard to be on the move, rolling all over the place but also using her toes to push herself around, and trying to get her knees up under herself. She gazes up at me at mealtimes and tries to mimic the motions of my chewing with her own little mouth. And with those sweet thigh rolls and the plumpness of her belly, every time I pick Molly up it's a reminder that she's not a newborn anymore. Everyone says the time goes more quickly with second- or third-born and so forth, and it's all true as far as I can tell.
Perhaps the fact that I didn't get these "six month" pictures taken until a solid two weeks past that actual date gives some indication of how busy things are around here, and how quickly the time flies.
She's gregarious, this little girl, and happily bestows big smiles on anyone and everyone -- as long as she approves of her current situation, which often means being held by either Mama or Daddy, although substitutes are sometimes acceptable.
She's a solid sitter these days, although I'm closer than ever before to actually following some RIE parenting principles with her in her babyhood when it comes to motor development, so I find that I rarely sit her up, but prefer to put her on her back or tummy and let her go from there. The more I've thought about it, the more it is odd to place a baby sitting up before she can get herself in and out of the sitting position. It just leaves her being rather stuck there! That being said, occasionally she really does like to be sitting up, so at times we just go with it.
Soaking through multiple full-body-style bibs a day (thank you, Aden and Anais burpy bibs! And thank you Cara for giving us some!), we've declared her our drooliest baby yet, which incidentally, my computer's autocorrect wants to change to drollest baby. No, dear old laptop. While she does bring us great joy and frequent mirth, droll isn't the word I'm going for, after all. Just drool, and more drool, all the time.
I know we're biased, but we think this kiddo is one of the cutest babies ever to grace planet Earth. Her eyes! And her smiles! Her Daddy is every bit as biased as I am, and declares her "above average" and "unbearably cute."
Dear Molly,
You are a handful to put to sleep, girly. You're the queen of the 40-minute-or-less nap for most of your naps, and it's been making your Mama a liiiiiiittle bit crazy lately. You've recently stopped falling asleep nursing, or rocking or singing or back-patting or anything else, for that matter; more often than not, the only thing that works is putting you in our LilleBaby carrier and bouncing you a bit until you finally give in and close your weary, red-rimmed eyes. Last night you made a rare exception, and fell asleep in my arms in the rocking chair as I whispered to you. "Sweet girl, it's okay to go to sleep," I murmured. "You can do more exploring tomorrow. You'll have a wonderfully long life to do all the things you want to do. Close those little blue eyes. Tomorrow you can work on your crawling, and play with your sisters, and see all the people you love, all over again." And as I whispered, you eventually stopped fussing noisily and arching your back to look around. Your eyes drifted shut. And after a few final fusses as you attempted to fight the sleep, you gave in and your little body grew heavy with sleep in my arms. I love that feeling, that moment of my babe drifting off to sleep in my arms. I know that someday, despite all these struggles we've had to get each of our babies to sleep in their turn, I will miss those moments in the rocking chair as a little one succumbed to slumber and grew limp against my shoulder, breath slowing against my neck, fist relaxing its hold on my finger.
We're finding our rhythm with my work and my care for my three girls, and sometimes that is challenging. Sometimes you make it known that no babysitter, no matter how qualified, is a suitable substitute for your mother. And so, sometimes, you roll on the floor at my feet while I teach violin lessons, or snuggle against me in the carrier. I like those moments, when you're quiet and happy to be with me. You watch my violin students attentively and seem to like hearing the music. It reminds me of years not so very long ago when each of your big sisters used to do the same, and I'm trying to find the mental space to be grateful, amidst the challenges and chaos, for the kind of work I get to do. I'm grateful for the fact that for every moment when a tantruming three-year-old's cries ring through the house -- bringing a hot flush of embarrassment to my face while I'm working -- there are a hundred beautiful moments. A baby rocking in the swing by my side during lessons. A child sitting quietly in my lap for a moment and just listening. A toddler coloring quietly on papers strewn on the floor, content to play quietly if she could just be near me. And you, Miss Margaret Elizabeth, falling asleep against my chest in the carrier to the sound of a small violin playing Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.
Of course, we'll close with the requisite sister picture. We struggled a little to get a good one, and one might say we failed. Lest you thought it was all smiles around here all the time. {But you didn't, did you?}
"Siiiiisters.... siiiisters... there were never such devoted sisters!"
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