5 Months

Sweet Succotash, you are in the worst mood ever today. But it's not your fault. We got home last night from your first trip to Texas, during which you endured not only an hour's time difference, but also daylight savings time, and so I think today you are having jet lag. You are fussy and out of sorts and squealy and hard to please. But we love you.

We learned that you dislike car rides and love loud restaurants. You fell asleep on my cousin and that night smelled of her perfume. Your dog was delirious with joy when we returned with seven (seven!) suitcases and an air of defeat. You received books and a stuffed armadillo and several vintage 1970s toys that once belonged to your mother, and you are giggly and smiley and give hugs around the neck and wet, drooly open mouthed kisses. As I write this, feeling down on myself about a book project on which I am behind, you are lying on your whale blanket on the floor wiggling your arms in anticipation of going on a walk with your Manamana and your dad and your Milo dog.

On Friday we have rented a car because your parents are irrationally worried about the coronavirus pandemic and we are driving to Massachusetts to hide out. On the way up we will stop over in Newport to meet your new friend Peter, who was born I think exactly fourteen weeks after you. I don't know when we will come back. I feel like, two weeks. Your dad is saying next fall. Perhaps the truth lies somewhere in between.

I am not going on the walk, because I need a few minutes of quiet. But I know that the second you are out of the door in your pram - which you have very nearly outgrown - I will miss you.

And that is how things stand, two days after your five month birthday.