five months three days

She's all, "okay mama.  I will do this.  I will sit here.  And I will look pretty.  But I will.  Not.  Smile."

But baby girl's on the mend, I think.  She slept last night for more than 90 minutes at a time.  Granted, this was only on the condition that her daddy or I slept with one eye open, sitting up, shushing, and patting her little back through all the dark, long hours of the night ... but she got some sleep. And this morning, a little MG sparkle back in her eyes when she awoke.  We laid in bed together for a half hour before the others came bounding in, exchanging smiles and sending out a gleeful text or two to the worried grandmas and the friends who were inquiring.  She's still not eating as much as I'd like, but she's keeping down her meds and napped solidly, so I have faith that we're getting there.  Thanks for the thoughts and prayers, my friends.  Appreciated!  (AND SEND MORE.  Anderson just told me his tummy hurts.  OMGZ HOLD ME I'M SCARED.)

So, Mabes, you're 5 months old.  Plus three days.  You've gone from a tiny baby to a big girl baby this past month, it seems.  You have an enthusiastic affinity for certain toys - the dolly with the crunchy shoes, the crab rattle with the nubbies you gnaw on with a smile while drool trails down your chin, and that Godsent glowy seahorse guy that's rescued us on many a (ten minute) car trip into town.  Your sleep went down the shitter this month, my dear, but I'm hopeful that we'll get our golden sleeper back soon.  It was teething, at first, that disrupted your slumbers.  Then the amber teething necklace brought us some marked improvement last week ... until  you started barfing.  We're tired, dear Mabel, so let's hope you remember how to sleep.  Soon.  Or Mister Ferber will come knocking on our door next month, which, let's face it, is going to be easier said than done.  You're our baby.  And though I swore we wouldn't be those parents who babied our last baby in the way last babies are so often babied .... you're babied.  We know you're our last.  We know, as your baby days dwindle and toddlerhood looms larger with each passing monthly sticker, a chapter is drawing to a close for us.  So we still bicker over who gets to hold our sleeping babe on the couch at 9pm when you SHOULD be up in your crib like your siblings would've been at this age, we delay solid foods because solid foods mean you're not a real baby anymore (okay, and they're a time sucking pain in the ay-ess-ess), we obliviously cram you into 0-3 month leggings sometimes because WHAT THE WHAT, there is no way you're five months old when I distinctly remember just buying you these leggings (LAST WEEK) while you were still a bump in my belly.  We plan baby-free trips to Texas and at the last minute place frantic phone calls to United to add a lap baby to our ticket, because we're just not ready to let you go, even for a weekend.  (By we I mean me.  J was like "oh.")

Oh, MG.  Slow it down, sister.