November 27, 2009

Six Months With Harriet

Harriet is six months old today, which is older than she’s ever been before. I remember when she was six weeks old, which I thought was ancient, and now I can’t believe that she was ever that small, and fragile, and terrifying to consider.

We’ve been taking photos on each of her montheversaries of Harriet in the gliding chair with Miffy — the strange wavy armed baby on the right is Harriet at 1 month. And from the progression of photos, it has become obvious that not only is the gliding chair now absolutely covered in puke, but that the baby has grown. Which is kind of what we expected, but I still can’t quite get over how strange it is that right before my eyes, she has turned into this sturdy, hilarious, little person. And I didn’t notice a thing.

Six months is really good. We spend our days doing the things that make Harriet laugh and smile (singing “Boom Boom, Ain’t It Great to be Crazy”, dancing stupidly, bouncing her up and down in the air, round and round the garden like a teddy bear) because Harriet’s laughter and smiles are so absolutely gorgeous. And these days, she’s even got her own sense of humour– according to Harriet, there is nothing funnier than the chicken puppet. She is very discerning.

She’s cutting her first tooth right now, once in a while elects to sleep up to four hours at a time, is in a rolling frame of mind, enjoys listening to Elizabeth Mitchell, Miley Cyrus, The Beatles and Vampire Weekend, listens also to a lot of CBC Radio 1, seems to attract lady-bugs, loves it when her dad gets home from work, eats books, eats food too (blueberries tonight!), likes to chew on her rubber duck and make it squeak, enjoys sucking on her toes, playing with her ball, is showing an affinity for Miffy, growing hair(!), likes to jolly jump, pokes eyes or gets her eyes poked depending on whether we’re hanging out with other babies older or younger than she is, she goes from Wibbleton to Wobbleton (which is fifteen miles), pulls bookmarks out of books, wants to touch everything, and two weeks ago she ate the shopping list.

It’s so hard. And I don’t think it ever gets easy, but it gets easier. And then harder too, of course, in all new ways, but the whole thing is also totally worth it in a way I’m really beginning to understand now. Only beginning to, though, because it’s an understanding I can’t articulate or even make sense of to myself, and it’s more a steady current inside of me than a feeling at all.

She is delightful, and fascinating, and amazing, and I can’t remember a world in which Harriet was not the centre. Which is not to say that sometimes I don’t wish for a different focus for a little while, but it would always comes back to her anyway. It always does. And it will forever, but how could it not?

We’ve all come a long, long way.