Milin is six months old today. Happy half a year, Little Mister
Yes, it’s gone fast, but at certain times, it’s also gone incredibly slow. Sometimes, in the wee hours, it feels like the time passes at a snail’s pace. It feels like the sleepless nights are endless. At other times, when I think about how much the Little Mister has changed in such a short time, it feels like the time is passing like a lightning bolt.
Perhaps because it’s a half birthday, I’ve been thinking about Milin’s first day.
It was 1.16pm on the last day of the year, and of course, it seemed unreal. He was finally here. He was ours. He was tiny, and light, and fragile. We were shell-shocked, exhausted, and terrified. We held him and our lives changed.
Our first week was spent in hospital, and we were amazed at how quiet he was. Our little baby who had no name yet, was our Squeak. He doesn’t really cry, we said in awe. I had to set an alarm clock to wake him every four hours through the night and feed him. I thought I was tired then. I thought my baby was a good sleeper.
The second night was hard. He was so hungry, but I don’t think I knew that then. The doctors gave him panadol for his headache, they said. I wondered what I was doing wrong and if I would ever learn how to stop his crying. He was a little jaundiced, his blood sugar dropped, he lost weight. But then in a few days he was fine. The doctors were happy. He slept.
We learnt to change his nappies, to dress him, to bathe him. We marvelled at his inky black eyes, his tiny fingers, his alert expression. Tony had to leave the hospital and head to the baby shop to buy teeny clothes, because everything we had was too big. I was scared he would get cold.
We brought him home. He was so small in the buggy. He cried all the way from the room he had spent his first week in, to the exit doors on Mein St. As soon as we were outside, he stopped crying. On the five minute walk home, he slept. We bundled him into his bassinet for the first time. He filled less than half its length.
Today, the Little Mister is the happiest person I know. He loves smiling, particularly at new people. He loves the reaction he gets and he knows that with his cheeky gummy grin, he makes people happy.
In six short months, he has learnt to smile, to laugh, to babble, to put his fingers in his mouth, to roll from his tummy to his back, to reach for toys and put them in his mouth, to blow raspberries and grasp his toes. Already, he has taught us so much. We have learnt of a different joy and of another love – all in our hardest but our best half a year.