letter from mommy: month six

Dear Bohdan,

I'll just begin by telling you that early on this month you convinced mommy she will to need to take every single course in negotiation skills her employer offers, because you spent the first ten days in September flaunting your cunning abilities in the fine art of manipulation by holding your own poo hostage. What you were after, I have no idea. And to every seasoned mother out there is saying, "Ten days with no poo? That's no biggie. It's common, actually," I say, "Perhaps. Perhaps it is common for YOUR child to go for ten days without pooing, but it's DEFINITELY not common for MY child, a B-Rotten spawn. Anyone familiar with MY child's lineage KNOWS that B-Rottens poo after each and every meal, sometimes even after each and every SNACK, even if it's only a handful of Honey Nut Cheerios from the pantry as they're preparing supper. As such, I have no other explanation for MY child's ten days of clean diapers other than he was showing me just what I'm going to be up against the older he gets. He was a Nigerian guerilla and his poo was an oil worker, and while I don't know what his demands were, I nonetheless got to the point where I wanted nothing more than what every other ignorant unilingual Anglophone wants in this world: for HIM to speak MY LANGUAGE, so that he could understand as I pled with him, 'Sweetheart, PUH-lease, just prove your health is uncompromised by giving mommy one good BM and I will buy you a Mars bar, a pony, anything you want - just PUH-lease!'"

You've also kind of introduced us to your new best friend this month. His name is Guy, pronounced Ggggueeeeeeeeeeeeeee, just like it is in France, a bit phlegmy, and full of contempt. (This must have been what Trudeau envisioned when he instituted Canada's official languages policy.) And you're sitting up unassisted for longer and longer stretches at a time. Slowly, slowly, you inevitably teeter to the side and do a face plant into the hardwood, but you're getting there, kiddo. Soon you'll be sitting up long enough for daddy to plop you at the table to teach you Texas Hold 'Em, or for mommy to sit you on the bathroom floor and try on different eye shadows for you. Your gummy smile will determine what's à la mode this season.

You become clingier everyday, which of course is a mixed blessing. Love, love, love the extra cuddles, but going downstairs to do the laundry has become even more of a challenge than it was before (remember Moto; this is our story and we're sticking to it. Wink, wink.) Six months is a big milestone. Every baby book I have tells me to prepare for an impending mobility fuelled by a never ending curiosity for electrical outlets, and small cylindrical objects that pose potential choking hazards. So I'm arming myself with two things: an Infant CPR certificate, and unbridled excitement to witness your transition from one Boh-dacious baby into one terror-ific toddler.

Baby Boy, there is a hole in my heart the shape of you, and it grows by the second just as you do. I am the happiest I have ever been in my life; thank you for being here, and thank you for being you. I couldn't be prouder of my special little guy, a little guy your daddy and I love so, so, so, so, so much.

Loving her little Turkey Roll since April 5, 2006,

Mommy

PS: And, this month's piece de resistance? Your turning six months gives mommy a good excuse to try Dairy Queen's new Blizzard of the month, the Peanut Butter Butterfinger Blizzard. Did you know that mommy's sweet tooth is also the reason we spell the short form of your name B-O-H as opposed to B-O? When daddy and I were contemplating the two possibilities just before you were born at Easter time, it occurred to mommy she would get to eat more of the letters made out of chocolate on sale at the drugstore if we went for three letters instead of two. True story, ask daddy. I've been running off that H ever since, but I'll suffer through the Peanut Butter Butterfinger Blizzard just to celebrate the big half-year mark, Baby. BECAUSE YOU ARE SO, SO WORTH IT.