Dear Lilah,

Oh my goodness, how time is flying by. You are six months old today! (I know! It totally IS exciting that your slack-ass mom finally is ON TIME.) I was lying in bed staring at you as you slept last night, thinking about how I still can’t believe that I actually grew you inside of my body. And I wondered if I will look at you when you are 40 and still be so amazed at the whole idea. I can’t imagine ever not being mystified by this fact. But I am sure at 40, when you are a lot bigger (I hope) it will be even harder to imagine. Plus, you might even have kids of your own. And then I will be amazed at how YOU grew THEM in your body. Oh, gosh. All this thinking was really exhausting. But it came down to one thing. I made you. And that blows my mind. Every day.

You have been teething for what seems like an eternity and you have STILL not popped out a tooth. This is distressing because you are frustrated and cranky. And you are dripping with spit nearly every second of every day. And you want to chew on my fingers a lot. Which is fine, except that sometimes, I need to use them for other things. (Like blogging. Duh.) It seems like a tooth might occur within the next couple of days, though. You have one attempting to escape your bottom gums as we speak. It makes you furious. And it makes me want to run far, far away. (Of course I couldn’t do that because, even when you are crying and chewing at me, you are seriously too cute for me to put into words.) We are keeping our fingers crossed for some serious relief in the near future. (Please let it come today!)

Yesterday, your father put your crib together. And no, we have not been making you sleep on the floor since you were born. But the only place that you were content was in your sleeper (amazing sleeping contraption that saved Mommy’s life) until now and I really didn’t want to quit it. (I will never quit you, amazing sleeping contraption.) Unfortunately, your feet are starting to pop out of it. And, while this is super cute and hilarious, and you still seem comfortable, I think this means it has to be retired. Your crib is pretty pimptastic, though. And you slept like a baby rock in it last night.

Your father and I sing a lot of songs to you. Your dad’s approach is mainly to make up songs about whatever he happens to be doing or whomever happens to be in the room at the time. This is usually pretty comical. Sometimes he dances around and I like that because you are about the only person who isn’t embarrassed of your father’s dancing. I think it makes him feel better about his lack of “Skillz”. I, on the other hand, like to sing you a variety of classics. Because that is how I roll. I started out always singing you Beatles songs. Because you seemed to really enjoy “Penny Lane” and “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds“. Then, one day, I caught myself singing Primus  to you and I thought that might be a bit inappropriate. That, and I hate Primus and I have no idea why or how that even happened. But at least it only happened that one time. I sang you to sleep to “La Vie Boheme” from the “RENT” soundtrack the other day. Which may also have been inappropriate but I have decided that until you know what I am talking about, I will stick with what works. Mostly, and this has been a constant since you were born, I sing Lisa Lisa and Cult Jam to you. (Your father does too. Don’t let him tell you any differently, either.) I sing the chorus of THIS SONG to you CONSTANTLY. And you love it. Because the eighties, despite what you may have heard, were a fun time for music. I am sure that, by the time that you read this letter, I will have introduced you to Cyndi Lauper and you will know just how unusual she is. (And you won’t get that, because you don’t know that my favorite Cyndi Lauper album is obviously, “She’s so Unusual“.) Anyway, you like for your father and I to make jackasses of ourselves for your benefit.

I am not sure that I mentioned before that I refer to you as “Lilahkin Skywalker”, but I want you to know that this is catching on. And I hope that it is still commonplace when you are a teenager. (And it might be cool. Still. Again? Whatever. I guess I will find out when the time comes.)

As always, you rock my face off and I am so excited to get to be with you every day. When I think about how much I love you, I smile so much, I injure my face. And I hope you remember that if/when I don’t get you the car that you want.

Love always,

Mom