Seven for the seven month old

1. Dinner eaten, applesauce sponged out of your eyebrows and Oliver playing in the bath with Daddy, I took you out to the garden this evening. Wide-eyed, arms reaching, your fingertips brushed the new lettuce, mint leaves, yellow flowers of a kale gone to seed. We tasted an apple, which was not quite ripe, and a plum exploding with juice, and you liked them both. You are opening to the world like one of those flowers, and nothing passes by that you don't want to taste, touch, smell.

2. In line at the airport last week you made friends with harried travelers all around us; when the line moved, you craned yourself sideways to see the man behind us again. You were less happy on the plane itself. So loud, those strange voices coming from speakers all around us, but you found quick solace in my singing, your brother's hand, Daddy's games, and finally curled around me in the seat to nurse. As you drifted into sleep, the drone of the engine and chatter of the other passengers fell away from me. I looked past Oliver, following his gaze out the window. A slice of wing, the sky, bluer than blue, and the endless mountain range of clouds below.

3. So many firsts: First swim, which you met with seriousness, as if you didn't want to miss anything. Your body remembered the water, legs kicking smoothly as I towed you through the pool. Your new shrug--a goofy grin, your shoulders pulled up to your ears. Your top teeth are new, too, hard-won through hours of pacing in the dark, small hours of the night.

4. Restless in the early evening, you call me from my work or reading, eyes wide and lower lip trembling. I lay beside you and your eyes close before my head finds the pillow. You burrow closer. I am getting nothing done, but breathing in your milky sweetness is enough.

5. Every day you wake up happy. When I convince my eyes to open, you smile in delight, then turn over to see if Daddy is awake. Best of all is your first Oliver sighting of the day. Joy!

6. You are learning what you don't like, too, perfecting the Stiff Baby approach to avoiding the car seat, and protesting loudly when something you want is out of reach, or taken from your grasp. "I was eating that book! Give it back!"

7. 2AM in a starlit room, walking you through a restless night of teething, you are so tiny and so heavy all at once. I rest my lips on your fine hair, gauge your readiness for sleep by the rhythm of your breathing. I am too tired to trace a straight line with my feet, but wouldn't trade the weight of your head on my chest for the most luxurious of beds. Sleep will find us both soon. Let the clock hush its ticking now, the earth spin a little slower, the crescent moon pause on the branches of the poplar trees as we make our way towards morning.