Dear Oliver Fancy,

Don't worry. You are not six months old yet. As you may or may not know, each month, I talk about what you're up to these days, include some stats, and your latest hobbies and developments. But not today. I just felt like saying hi. And to let you know a few things, because I'm sure I'll forget by the time you are old enough to understand.

First of all, everyone says that with parenting, the days are long, but the months are fast. This is completely true. You are more interactive these days, which allows for a little more variety and FUN ACTIVITIES each day, but for the first four or so months of your life, every day was nearly the same, played in slow motion. This doesn't mean I didn't like it, but I kind of felt like you were hazing me until I could be let into the club of truly fun motherhood, replete with FUN ACTIVITIES.

I don't know if told you this, but I like to think of myself as a writer. I don't know if I am that good, and I don't know if I am brave enough to do anything about it, but it is my hope that writing about you, practically my favorite person that ever existed, will at least give me a little push in the right direction. I don't really have any preference about what your passions in life happen to be, but I want you to know that it is important to have them, and to pursue them, and that they are worthy of tending to and improving upon.

In other news, you have been rolling over with real vigor these days, to the point where I cannot leave you unattended. You have graduated from your sea monkey stage and on to the hamster stage. If you for some reason get loose, you won't do much damage, but I can no longer trust that you will be where I left you when I run to the bathroom or mix up your cereal.

Speaking of, we are working on this whole cereal thing. Some days you really tear into it, so much so that I have had to make you a second serving, but other days its a bite or two and you are over it. Similarly, some days I forget to feed it to you all together. According to baby books, it should be offered to you as a snack or supplement to breast milk. As inconvenient as it may be, I think you are going to nurse forever. Just kidding. But I may make you sleep in my bed with me forever. (Just kidding?)

In closing, you turned out just about as awesome as I could have ever imagined. You are pretty much like the best blind date ever, except the anticipatory build-up was a long ten months, and this courtship lasts forever. We got glimpses of you and could only speculate what you would look like and what sort of personality you would have and what kind of family we would make, and though we are a work in progress, we totally hit the jackpot.

[Here is a very sweet picture of you sleeping. Note your very long and enviable eyelashes. At night, I like to get my face very close to you and stare at you like a creep.]

Love you,

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