6 Months with our Little Sickfish

Goose is 6 months old. She lives fierce and she lives (mostly) naked. She giggles uncontrollably, cuddles like a champ, gets sick weekly, and pulls my hair every damn day - which would be adorable if my hair were even half as strong as it was pregnant. There’s this sick evolutionary joke where a woman’s hair sheds like a dog at the same time her baby’s motor skills include pulling it out.

Speaking of evolutionary jokes, she is FINALLY showing little features that indicate I could maybe, possibly be the mother. We still get “She is so beautiful! She looks like her daddy.” daily. But while there’s still no questioning my loyalty to her father, she is starting to shape my eyes and smile, or so the critics say.

In our last post, she’d tackled three short flights like a champ and I can proudly say she tackled the 4-hour flight from Boston to Denver like a professional traveling baby. The flight attendants gave her a certificate and our dedicated back-of-the-plane flight attendant said she was the best baby she’s ever had. We were punching one another in victory of having “the best baby ever” as we walked out of the gate. She projectile spit up all over the airport floor to keep us humble.

We've also tackled a long TX road trip, but I'll save that for the next post. We still have a leg of the trip and I refuse to jinx it. We are all pretty sick, so maybe that's the extent of the toughness we'll endure? *knocks wood

Independence is surfacing. We’ve started solids and she loves it, but she prefers to grab the spoon from me and feed herself. She screams in victory when she lands rolling over and swats us when we try to help. She yells in frustration when other kids run or crawl and she can’t, a little life-long craving to go 170mph in the body of an ’87 station wagon. She loves daycare and has figured out how to summon the crawlers in her classroom from her throne of a jumper. Her teacher showed us photos of babies flocking to surround her as she giggled. I was impressed. Her Daddy was terrified.

In October, I placed her first memory into her trauma bank. I plopped her into a cold, carved pumpkin with my mom group and all their babies. All babies wailed in absolute horror as their little legs kicks in torture through two tiny holes at the bottom of the pumpkins and their bodies flailed from an opening at the top. There were seeds in diapers, seeds coming out of their wherever. Orange slime in hair. V excited for Christmas.

And this month, me and a chunk of my mom group wore Moms for Mamala sweatshirts. We contributed to the campaign and the side that we believed in, for the rights we believed in, against an agenda we don’t want, as is our right as Americans. We lost, as happens. Many of you disagree with me this election and while I just don’t understand it, we love or accept one another through it. Empathy, a fudge ton of humor, and a strong voice as a woman, agnostic, parent, and business owner are my tools of choice to shape the future I’d prefer. I’ll use them all to contribute where I can and show this feisty little girl there is value in her vote. I want her to know her voice matters. And I think that's something all of us want for our kiddos.

Goose, we love you so much. We will teach you to care for others different than you, be curious about ideas different than your own, and to gracefully accept and learn when you lose. I can’t wait to watch you be whoever you want to be, wear whatever you want to wear, and love whoever you want to love. We will keep doing our family dance party through each phase of your beautiful life.