This month, month nine, makes my Finn a Little Man of the World. He has experienced more bright lights, sweet milk, and nibbling kisses than he has dark, swooshing days in the womb. Today, as I held him on his back in a sun-heated pool, his head resting on my hand as I weaved his body slowly through the water, he closed his eyes and I wondered if he remembered those safe moments, closed away and warm. These days, it seems, are filled with unavoidable bumps, sharp edges, throbbing gums. Tooth seven (yes, that makes three new teeth in three weeks) has reared its little head, and since they come in pairs, and since the constant line of drool from his chin has not abated in days, the eighth is sure to break through any second. Things are not always easy here on earth. It’s no wonder Finn’s having trouble sleeping, waking throughout the night as if he never slept from 8 to 6 once upon a time. I suppose if he is indeed nostalgic for his long-lost days of the womb, our carefully chosen organic sheets will likely never be quite so cozy.
No, we’re not always on cloud nine at month nine. But we’re here together figuring it out, our little family. Finn, at thirty inches and three ounces shy of twenty-two pounds, is finding his busy way via peg-leg crawling, standing and sitting and standing and sitting (etc.), cruising, bouncing, bird-watching, listening, grabbing, splashing, laughing, tasting (today, fresh cherries) and, in his own way, talking. His sentences sound real, despite the fact that I cannot understand his words. He is not just practicing, but saying things about this world that, as he becomes part of it, is becoming his.