A Little Addy-tude

I'm laying on the couch, with Adelyn straddling my stomach. I hardly have to support her at all anymore, just a quick hand behind her back when she leans too far in one direction or the other. And this ability, being able to sit up all by herself, will be the defining triumph of Adelyn's babyhood.

The turning point came when she started sitting up with our help. Suddenly she was less fussy, more content, the smiles became frequent and the crying became few and far between. When she has her fits now they always, always revolve around not sitting. Naps, certain feedings, mom forcing a toy in her face because she has yet to truly discover them--none of these things inspire the spirit of the baby--the person--she truly is. But when she's sitting it's like she's herself, the person she will become, happy, curious, active, sassy. I'm eager for the day when she can sit by herself and I can sit across from her, engaging her, not holding her up but holding her attention.

Earlier today we stopped by my friend Candice's house. Adelyn needed a nap as soon as we got there, so I put her in Kennedy's crib and went through our usual nap-time routine--lights off, white noise, a few seconds of cuddling and then I put her in the crib, my hand on her stomach until her eyelids get heavy. It didn't work, probably because we weren't at home and because the nap was an hour too late. She finally fell asleep after fifteen minutes of agonizing cries--the girl can cry like nobody's business, as a newborn and as a burgeoning six-month-old. And it got to me, like most parenting things do. I'm hard on myself when it comes to being a mother. It still feels new to me; I still feel like an amateur. Not at taking care of my own baby, but at mothering in general, if that makes any sense. A few minutes after Adelyn woke up Kennedy took a nap with ease, without a peep, and of course it sent a what-am-I-doing-wrong shiver up my spine.

So many things have gotten easier and so much has not or has stayed the same. Stalled in its same frustrating place.

It takes a moment like the one we had later at home, with Adelyn sitting, smiling on my stomach, watching her dogs wrestle each other and choosing that this image is funny, to her, another addition to her cultivating self. She listens to her mom say "mama" over and over again in the hope she will say it back and decides that she finds this, too hilarious. She's balancing herself with her hand on my chest, her other hand in her mouth, drool dripping down and soaking the front of her shirt and mine. She's making her baby dinosaur sounds and surprising herself with the loudness of her own voice. I'm falling even more in love with her, and I didn't know there was any room for any more love for this little being that has already taken over every ounce of my self.

These are the sort of moments that make being a mother beyond worth it. I created a person who is already making decisions about what she likes, what she doesn't, what's funny and what's not worth a giggle.

My daughter is a crier. When she cries, she lets it all out. She's not always easygoing. Often she is quickly sent into a tizzy and is hard to bring back down. She doesn't like to finish her bottles all in one sitting. She doesn't like to open her mouth to eat solids. She doesn't like to eat on a schedule. She doesn't sleep through the night, and she was born to a mom who doesn't have the guts or the stamina to do any sort of actual sleep training.

She smiles bigger than any baby I've ever seen. She's the most beautiful creature--adult or bite-sized--I've ever laid my eyes on. She's got an attitude. (Or as her Janu said, just a little "Addy-tude." It's the best part of her.