Darling Tiny T, how is that you are eight months already? Making your way up staircases, climbing onto the sofa unaided.
Whereas once you were silent, rarely letting forth a peep, lately sounds you have started to let forth and oh, sweetest baby, the most precious of sounds for gentle as the soul they reflect, they sing in the air your furrowed brow released to laughter. We listen and are lifted and catch our breaths to listen again.
At eight months old you chase your brother round with giggles, chest heaving as he catches you for tickles.
You wake up smiling mashallah, close your eyes with a similar sign of peace. You hold hands by interlocking the tiniest of fingers with a certainty they were made for this purpose.
Your hair, so red in the sun, a tame brown in the house, grows longer and softer with each pass of my lips; your eyes bluer the more skies they reflect.
You’re quietly curious, flamboyantly pleased so your days glide contentedly between. You have four teeth pushed through with another on its way as your cheeks glow a warm amber light. Baked squash is a favourite, as are your Abi’s pilfered cookies, swipped excitedly as he grins right back at you.
Baby boy, as you explore the world through its’ textures and new sounds you share everything you can with us, smile growing larger as we explore back with you. Bouncing up and down in the Ergo when you hear the water splashing, purring gently as we watch blossom blow, holding your body or your eyes, next to, with, mine brings me calmness and hope and new spirit. Thank you, for calming our storms.
At eight months ATM you are a being taking over the seasons. It’s a privilege, a blessing and immeasurable pleasure to be beside you as you take these first steps.