This month you have grown so much! You are suddenly blooming, just like the roses in the front garden but far more beautiful.
You have learnt to sit up and how to put your toes in your mouth. Your wonderful belly-gurgle-giggle has become a regular occurrence, especially when you see your big sister. You've started eating solids. Hello avocado and banana - fuss free, naturally packaged baby food, I cut you slices and you play and mash and suck on them, as well as throw them on the floor. A lot.
We have promoted you from the bassinet to the cot - the same one we lugged all the way to Vanuatu and back for your brother, and that your sister slept in. It's pressed up beside our futon, and as I write this I can hold your warm little hand that's poking through the bars. (It's possible I cried when we put away your bassinet, we'll be taking it to Melbourne for one of your Nana's friends from West Papua, but o my baby, my last baby, you grow so fast.)
You remain perfect in each and every way - from your soft downy hair that's decided to side part itself and is (after checking photos) the exact same shade as your brother's at this age - you're going to be another little blondie! - to your chunky little thighs and darling tiny nails, all varying colours of delicate pink, like shells from the deep. The little dimples at the base of each of your fingers are indescribably sweet.
(You're feeding again now, busily sucking, your pudgy smooth toes pressed up against my typing arm, my other arm full of sweet baby, one of your little hands possessively curled around the milk)
We went to the pool today, Little-one, and you loved it. You went into a yellow ring, just like your brother and sister, although I held you as well, and you smiled and looked amazed and tried splashing the water. Perfect happiness is having both arms filled with my little water babies.
To be (overly) frank little one, we needed the unwind time in the pool as it's been a week of stresses. Beginning with a colonoscopy (mine, not a lot of fun, particularly the preparation for it the day before with the whole non-eating) two bouts of gastro (your daddy and I) your daddy getting electrocuted and spending a night getting monitored - including being prepped for surgery which was thankfully cancelled- and your brother getting scans and seeing specialists about a lump on his jaw that just isn't going away. And then the packing for our Big Move. Let us not mention the packing.
There's a lot of deep breathing going on. But you, my darling, have been a constant joy and delight.
Your amazed smile, your contented sigh and cuddling in when you're picked up, your desperately outreaching fingers whenever there's food around, your happiness in being lugged about by your brother and sister, the way you coorie in to my shoulder when you're tired with little seal noises.
You think blowing bubbles is amazingly clever. Which of course it is. (Cue long discussions with your brother and sister about why babies blowing bubbles is adorable and bigger kids blowing bubbles is not so much.)
Your favourite trick at present is to grab both my cheeks and then lunge towards me to attack my nose with slobber. You repeat this with enthusiasm. You also think your own tongue is wonderful and stick it out constantly. It is very cute.
You love going out and smiling at random strangers - we're both a little aggrieved when they don't smile back. The rudeness! Your smile is slow growing, so admittedly this is not always their fault - they might be half-way out the door before your smile is complete.
You giggle so much we very nearly decided to add Giggles to your (rather long) list of endearments. Instead we call you Hoggles, a cross between Hogs and Giggles. Your daddy says that as the mother of Hoggles I should be Moggles, but I am unconvinced.
Our Giggles, our Hoggles, our little Pearl-Girl, our Lili-Pili, our Chubster. You are our constant delight. In the chaos of the everyday you are our calm and our radiant joy.