You've been in this world for seven months now. That's two-hundred and twelve days. Two-hundred and twelve days of you bringing joy and purpose into my life. Two-hundred and twelve days that have been brighter because of you, more full because of you, filled with more love and light and, okay, sleepless nights, because of you.
This month has been a challenging one. Between teething and not sleeping and Chris working some insane hours, I've felt less like a Pinterest-perfect, has it all together, savors every second kind of mom and more like a slightly crazed, sort of holding it together, really needs to wash her hair kind of mom.
But the beautiful thing is that you don't care. You don't care that I haven't managed to do a monthly photo shoot of you with cute props, you don't care that your nursery doesn't look like something straight off of Pinterest, you don't care that I consider a Target run a fun outing for us. Your face still lights up when you see me. You still want to snuggle up to me when you're sleepy.
Because all you know is that I'm your mom. And no matter how hard things seem or how sleepy I am or how messy things get, you love me just the same. There are no words to describe how great of a gift that is.
You have two little teeth, are suddenly very ticklish, and have a lot to scream say. I wouldn't be surprised if, by the time I write your eight-month letter, you can say mama.
You're my best little buddy and I just adore you and your sweet little giggles and snuggles and babbles. There may have been grumpy teething days and what felt like zero-sleep nights, but these have been the best seven months of my whole entire life.
Happy seven months, little Sneebles. Love you forever.