Dear Ingrid,

Today you are 5 months old. I have no idea how that happened, how you steamrolled right through summer and on into fall, and have arrived here, at 5 months old.

This was a big month for you, you sprouted two teeth, and are learning to sit up, getting better at it every day. You’ve started to develop preferences for toys, liking your crunchy snail rattle thing the best.

Really, you only love it because it sounds like your very favorite toy, which is a breadbag, which we let you gnaw on while we prepare dinner and you observe from your Bumbo. Breadbags are Not Safe and certainly Not Approved as  developmentally appropriate toy, so we limit your exposure.

You also started rolling this month; you’d flipped yourself once or twice, but now you actively know how to roll. We’ve pushed the coffee table back and laid out a blanket, and hanging out on the blanket with your soft toys and some books is one of the ways you spend your time.

You have an exersaucer, now, which lets you enjoy the world from on high. It also puts you at eye-level to the cat’s chair, and you love the kitty. We are trying to teach you to ‘be gentle,’ but hey, you’re 5 months old and cats are furry and probably delicious, in your mind, but luckily, the kitty is pretty understanding of your age and curiosity.

You like to blow raspberries, and have started squealing and babbling as well. You will work very hard to pick up your toys to get them in your mouth. You go from silly to serious in the blink of an eye, it seems.

From the beginning, you’ve been a pointer, gesturing in any direction with no meaning, and watching that index finger grow has been magical. You’re almost twice as big as you were when we brought you home, and your personality is changing exponentially each day.  You know us as well as we know you, and the highlights of your day are waking up, and when daddy comes home. You love taking in the world around you, and we love showing it to you.

And for all that I love about being your mother, it makes me think, too, about being a daughter. I have a different perspective on my own daughter-hood, and while I have — and still do — find my own mother challenging at times, I wonder if one day, you will be rolling your eyes at the things I do, or say, or if you’ll hate me for a period of time, and if that happens, I hope that someday, you see what I saw. I hope that someday, I get to stand back, and watch you take a picture of your baby’s toes curled around your daddy’s hands, and be struck by how much a simple photo can convey.

I love you, Ingrid.

Love, Mama