I gave birth. I blinked. And then I had a four-month-old.
I will blink, and then I'll blink again and she will be driving.
I'm not sure where the time goes, but I'm fairly certain that it is hanging out with the lost socks somewhere.
Austen, like many babies -- and many grown-ups for that matter -- is a moving target. Just as soon as I have her patterns and preferences mostly figured out, they change.
Just like as of the last couple of weeks, after three and a half months of resistance, she actually likes it now when I wear her in the Moby.
If it's been awhile, it's because I'm remaining in-the-moment as much as I can. It's because sometimes, she will only nap in my arms, slowly falling into sleep after nursing and to set her down is to wake her. It's because she's teething and it's because it's better if I'm holding her. It's because sometimes the only way I can keep her from crying is to show her our reflections in the mirror, dancing and singing a silly song, swaying back and forth.
And yeah, it's the laundrydishesdinnerkitchenfloorvacuuming and also trying to talk to my husband once in awhile. It isn't anything new under the sun, but I'm still finding my way.
We had her four month check up this past week, and she's doing amazing. Healthy as can be. Right on track for weight, 95th percentile for length, and meeting and exceeding developmental milestones. (Cuteness is totally off the charts.) On Sunday, she rolled over both ways for the first time and it wouldn't surprise me if she succeeded in crawling by the time she's five months old.
But enough blah, blah, blah. Want to see her?
Yeah, I figured as much.