The year was 2017, and Eldore Rex upset the whole thing. From the early Spring when I found out I was pregnant, to the garden I was unable to plant for morning sickness and first trimester fatigue, to the summer activities I could hardly participate in for pain, to the Autumn I barely had thought for as I tried to scrape our lives and routine back together in preparation for a new baby, all ending on that lovely November evening, just a few days before Thanksgiving, when he was born.
This post was originally written in November of 2017, and probably never finished because Eldore was born just a few days later. The emotional upheaval did recede with his birth, like I thought it would, and we have enjoyed a lovely nearly-nine-months of having him in our family.
Eldore Rex turned seven months old yesterday.
As I type he is seated on the floor behind me, nestled in the boppy pillow; although when I turn to look at him I find him flung backwards and looking at me (upside down) with an eager expression. He will not sit up for long–not because he can’t, but I think maybe he is not content to–he flings himself at whatever toy is nearby (always better than the one he has in his hand) and ends up on his belly, or on his side, or draped across the pillow backwards like he is right now, and inevitably blowing raspberries.
It’s 10:30 on a Monday morning, and on the floor beside me lies one chunky-thighed infant. He’s on his belly; it’s where he prefers to be, these days, and he snuffles excitedly as he reaches for the chime ball that is just out of his reach. Every now and then he manages to just touch it with his fingers–the action pushes the ball even further away. He doesn’t seem to be aware of this, though. He crows and sings to it as if coaxing it back closer to himself.