Odds are, he won’t answer to his formal given name. Baby Boy will write more of a homespun moniker on his stick figure drawings. Our white board remains littered with middle name options. There is time. He won’t publicly receive this name until we are face to face.

We have much to be thankful for at this the halfway mark. Weighing in at the 78th percentile, he is growing well. After bringing home a 4 pounder, we rejoice at the thought of a heftier boy. The morphology ultrasound was reassuring, and his heart rate continues to be strong and speedy.

When it is too chilly to venture outside, we opt for watching the squirrels scurry about the yard. Or, as Winnie is learning from Mis Animales, the ardillas.

Some afternoons we sit in the rocking chair, and listen to the hum of the sound machine or a classical music CD. On occasion, Winnie has something else up her sleeve.

When your mom dresses you in iridescent sweat pants…

January 2016. Cold, windy days are spent pacing the house in circles, then semicircles. I hold her and sing, and she does too. She crawls with ferocity, and squeals, beckoning me to chase her down the narrow hallway. Steps are few and far between, but they will be here soon enough. She greets all: toys, her mirrored images, her dada, her mama, any face she lays her eyes on. What started as a “hey” is now a proper “hi.” She lies prone in her crib for as long as anyone cares to rub her back or stroke her baby fine hair. Her eight teeth are proudly on display, and she has been known to bite. Under her arm she tucks her Christmas doll or plush polar bear. When prompted to kiss them, she smashes her face into theirs. Winnie Girl is one. Yesterday, we strolled down to the inlet’s edge to take a few photos where Amelia so lovingly captured our first few days with her last January.

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