White stripes and pretty weeds.

White stripes...

That sneaky white hair showed up on my head again this morning.  How it managed to stay hidden long enough to grow six inches is beyond me, but once spotted it didn't have a chance.  I ripped it out unceremoniously along with two perfectly good red ones.  Chalk one up for collateral damage and move on.  Nothing to see here.  I must remember to stay vigilant.  Thank goodness they don't grow in larger quantities or I'd surely go bald with this prevention method.

The odd white hair isn't the only thing reminding me of my age these days.  Trying to get up off the floor is hard enough with both hands let alone with a fourteen pound dribble fountain squirming around in my arms.  I almost got stuck yesterday and ended up making my mother's noise when I managed to right myself.  It still beggars belief how fast I can walk crouched over, one hand balancing Rukai over my shoulder and the other trying to concurrently straighten out the stiffness in my back and counterbalance.  I may not be as fit as I used to be but damn, I'm good at multitasking.

Doing four thousand things at once is now a way of life, an unknown reflex as much as is breathing.  I sometimes stop and try to inventory everything I've got going, then forget what I was doing before said inventory-ing.  I can't recall finishing anything in the past six months other than dinner, a roll of toilet paper and the cup of tea I at long last get to making somewhere around 3:00 when Rukai is having his fourteen second nap.  This child is so good at sleep avoidance I should probably get my request for a Supernanny consultation in asap.  I guess I could always just turn on Fox News and let all the droning American political bickering knock him out.  That is, in the absence of the Proms.

...and pretty weeds.

Thanks to all the negativity and low expectations the scaremongerers - er, I mean 'doctors' - put in us from day dot, we remain annoyingly surprised at Rukai's interest in and interaction with his environment.  Each day we both look and say 'there's NOTHING wrong with this child' yet wait for the proverbial shoe to drop.  The clock tick tocks to that magic end of the first year when we are supposed to see him begin to fall behind his peers.  Although we think it's all a load of old bollocks and that we'd have seen some indication of delay by now despite what they know from those fabulously reliable studies done on two people, I hate that fucking clock.  So in my mind I have dug a hole in the garden and buried it like old Fortunato behind that wall of bricks.  For the love of God.  For the love of Belief.  I truly believe one day that clock will go quiet.  I don't know if anyone else does but if that is the best I can do for our boy - to keep believing, to keep loving, to keep nurturing - then I can do little else.

Joyfully, six months on, Rukai is showing no indication of any problems aside from a very lingering upper body muscle weakness which is more likely due to limited tummy time than to anything else.  They can label it low muscle tone all they want but this to me would mean he'd require intensive therapy to get that upper body in shape.  And here all he's getting is 'roly poly therapy' a la Mama and lo and behold those muscles are doing just what they're supposed to.  He has full use of both arms, and has been able to bring them to his center for the past couple months now, which is supposed to be of huge magnitude when low muscle tone comes into play.  So that isn't a problem.  He grips tightly with his hands and can use his arms to push, pull, and hold himself up, just like any other six month old.  That bit of neck lag is going the more tummy time he gets, and with tummy time being the solution for ordinary kids, they can officially take that 'low muscle tone' label and stick it in one of those places people don't talk about at parties.  Well, child-friendly parties anyway.

A lengthy, bobble-head-free supported sit on the floor yesterday blew my mind.  Where did this come from?  Like magic, the bobble has boogied.  Have those magic angels come back and whispered 'your Mama is getting a bit worried, so chop chop, get your sit on.'  Thank you angels, one and all.  All within the ordinary range of development.  So the tick tock clock can go join the 'low muscle tone' label and all those doctors on a muddy, sinking island somewhere and have a negativity festival the HELL away from me.

We'll have to now re-locate that sit to the garden the next time the clouds blow over so he can inspect the borders from a vertical vantage point.  He's fascinated with the weeds I have had no time to pull, since they seem to be of the pretty variety, with little purple and yellow flowers among them.  Last night he was a virtual giggle machine, letting out those awesome baby laugh bursts 'uh-HAH!!' while scoping out the silhouette of the plum tree against the faded blue horizon.  I think it's a nice view.  He thinks it is the most amazing thing ever.

I cannot wait to take him on holiday, to the zoo, the aquarium, the beach.  I only hope he's awake enough to enjoy them - the stroller and sling are like baby Nytol, and he's usually out cold within my first ten steps.  Perhaps the nap during the drive will take the top off that need-to-nap-now-am-feeling-so-sleepy baby thang.

Everything in his eyes is new and beautiful and fun.  His innocence does not notice milestones and fear and worry (and white hairs), only love and comfort and security.

Oh to see through the eyes of a six month old again.  Even the weeds are pretty.