A few weeks ago you turned four months old! And I kept thinking about how I needed to write you a letter, and then all of a sudden you are five months old.
You’re still snoozing well at night with one wake-up around 3 or 4 a.m. You’re growing like a weed but shaped more like a tree stump.
You are noticing people and things around you, and your favorite faces are Addison’s and Maya’s. Addison makes you jump and squirm with excitement, and Maya’s shaggy, always-slightly-damp, furry face fascinates you. You patiently let her sniff your legs and lick your ears. I hope she returns the favor when you become mobile.
You can’t crawl, but you are still a rolling force to be reckoned with. I had to buy mesh bumpers for your crib so you’d stop waking up with your limbs stuck. Two rolls and you’re off the play mat, wobbly head looking around, big gray eyes blinking in confusion, wondering where all that giggling is coming from.
One thing I knew I wanted to tell you this month is the story of your name. I suggested Asher several months before you were born, and your Daddy and I both liked it. We weren’t totally sold, but we kept it at the top of the list. As your arrival became closer and closer, we narrowed the list down to two names. Your dad was all about “Asher.” I kept waffling, and we even arrived at the hospital without knowing for sure what we’d call you. To help me decide, I looked up the meaning of the name.
Your name means happy. I couldn’t help but love the idea of planting such a simple but transformative foundation for your life. I am not perky, not overly bubbly or cheery. But you, my little light, are so very happy. You are content and calm and the picture of happiness. Of course there are many months and years ahead for you to discover death metal and black eyeliner, but these past few months have been filled with the radiance of your pure, innocent joy. I want to bottle it or snort it or bathe in it—whatever is less weird. Basically, I can’t get enough.
From the moment I come to scoop you out of your crib in the morning, your day is filled with gummy smiles, delighted squeals and calm observation. You have lived up to your name more than we could have ever thought, and I’m certain you were always my Asher. When my reserves are running thin, and I’m scraping at rusted tin trying to scoop out some joy for the day, you have so much to spare.
Thanks for all that happy.
From My Whole Heart,