My baby is.five.months.old. It's been five months since that fateful doctor's appointment that uncovered my blood pressure was a wee bit high and the doc suggested induction, given my heart condition. Five months since DH and I spent two nights waiting for my labor to progress, waiting for our sweet, wonderful baby Patrick to arrive. Five months since the nurse handed him to me and I thought, "Mine." Isn't that a weird thing to think? I think that was one of my first thoughts because for so long, I was just the aunt, just the envious friend who admired others' beautiful babies. I was overcome with gratitude and love for this blessing, and overcome with fear at the enormity of my new responsibility. As soon as I looked in his face and held him in my arms, I felt a sense of familiarity. After spending the last nine months praying for him, talking to him, laughing at his antics in my belly, and documenting his growth, his little face just made...sense. I just knew him. And how the last five months have flown. I know that five months isn't a big milestone, but it just seems like Patrick is doing so many new things that I continue to be amazed. Just a few things: he is sitting up better and better in the Bumbo, working on "eating" rice cereal, rolling from back to front and front to back, "scooting" off his playmat on a regular basis by kick, kick, kicking his feet. He loves playing "horsey" with his daddy, can sit comfortably on my hip, and is fascinated by his soccer ball. He thinks it's hilarious when daddy bounces the ball in his house, and he tries his best to "hold" it. I am loving every minute, and I hope that I'm keeping enough of a journal to remember all of these sweet moments farther down the road. I continue to pray that Patrick grows healthy, strong, happy, and that DH and I can give our all to raising him and any other children we may have.