The moment a child sleeps through the night until the moment they crawl, is to me, the easiest time to be a mommy.
Hannah is there right now.
There is no sin in her heart. She simply smiles at anyone who looks at her. Coos whenever she get the chance. Allows anyone to hold her. She giggles when you kiss her neck and grabs fistfuls of hair without any knowledge that she's done it.
She accepts hair-shoved-in-her-nose-and-eyeball hugs from her big sister without objection. She allows brothers to push to hard as they help feed her.
She giggles when you move her around on the bed, attempting to situate her just right to get swaddled. And once she finds herself completely swaddled, she begins to cry a bit -- obviously knowing that her time with Daddy or Mommy has come to an end.
Once she gets you in focus, she doesn't let you go. She'll follow you from one side of the room to another. She seems to especially like to do this with Grampa. She seems to hold a special place in her heart for him.
She's begun grabbing onto toys when sitting in her little bouncy chair. I'm not one to tout my child's brilliance so, in giving her the benefit of the doubt, I'll admit that most of the grabs are more accidental than planned out.
She doesn't like the swing nearly as much as big brother Isaac did. But she accepts the bouncer as a substitute for being held.
She absolutely loves for someone to hold her, and often falls asleep with her head bobbing on their forearm.
Soon I'll be childproofing the house. I'll be blocking stairs and padding edges of tables. It will happen before I know it. She'll be scaling furniture and getting knocked over by the dog and making a beeline for anything I don't want her to play with.
Maybe she'll be addicted to book reading like Isaac was.
Maybe she'll find fascination in videos at a younger-age-than-is-recommended like Sidge did.
Or maybe she'll go the route of puzzle-fiend like her big sister Abigail.
But today, I am simply enjoying her where she is right now. A baby who stays in one place, doesn't drink anything but milk, and falls asleep wherever we are.
I've done this four times in five years so I know how fast it goes. And I know that in a few years, I'll barely remember these moments.
That's why I write them. That's why, even when I don't feel like it, I keep blogging about my children. This is the online story of their life. It is a diary that I hope they will one day read.
It is my letter to them.
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