Owen turned six months old yesterday. He’s rolling, crawling (mostly the angry shrimp maneuver), trying to sit up, laughs easily, smiles frequently, loves to be tickled and cuddled, headbutts and kicks like a soccer player, gives open mouth kisses across your face with a sprinkler head action, strokes my face and chest with his hands and feet instead of drumming on me as he once did, and (dare I risk angering the gods, a higher being, or other parents?) he sleeps well.
He still has nursing issues at times, overheats easily, sweats profusely (his feet drip and cat hair sticks to his hands), chants and moans loudly to himself when having difficulty falling asleep (requiring bouncing as well), screams if you buckle him into the carseat; hates wearing anything that covers his neck, legs, feet (see sweaty). Wakes with a smile on his face, pets the cats, watches and reaches for Nora, firmly grips my hand and pulls it to his head to stroke his scalp, hoots like an owl. We call him O-wee for short, lumpy when we tease him, and Bubba when he’s upset (he’s big and says “bub-bub-bub” when he’s mad). He loves to be thrown in the air, zerberts blown on him, fart noises, and just sitting outside. Stares out the window or the world around him like someone studying an object for research. We call it his “nature-vision”, 24 hours a day like CNN only this channel tells the truth.
All limbs shoot in the air and his mouth forms an O as he log rolls towards me in bed. He leans out and grunts with a smile on his face to greet those he likes, claps at you if he wants to be held. I feel his eyes on me at all times taking in the world and can always expect a smile when I look at him. He started saying “ma” and “dada”. I overheard Nora trying to teach him her name and her tell him he’s “so annoying” right before he giggled and pulled at her dress.
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