6 months

Every night, Jackson wants to go outside and look at the moon. Hours before it’s dark, he will ask, “moon come to Jackson’s house?” Besides the fact that him thinking the moon comes to visit him is just the cutest, and the smile that overtakes his face when he sees it, this two-minute nightly affair means more than just going to look at the moon. Some nights the moon is breathtakingly beautiful, and some nights we are happy to see a sliver. Some nights it’s so cloudy that we can’t see the moon at all, but we know it’s still there. (these moonless nights remind me that the love is still in there, somewhere, as i struggle to dress/wrestle Jackson/a hungry bear coming out of hibernation every day). Seeing the moon change from small to big to small again, to watch it appear and disappear and appear again, is a reminder that we too have phases and grow to become new moons every so often.

This is certainly true for Davis. In six months, he has gone through many phases, and through them all I have come to learn, love, and obsess over him. I’ve learned just the right place to tickle him to make him laugh and how to kiss him to make him smile. I know that he is happiest standing on my legs, and that he loves jumping of any sort, being outside, music, and baths. He is now eating foods, sitting up, and playing with toys. But his love for Jackson is the most consistent, sweetest love, and a love that was born even before he loved Michael and me.¬†Jackson is his entertainment. He watches him all day long, and he is fussier when Jackson isn’t around. To see Jackson love him back just as fiercely has been one of the greatest joys. The first word out of Jackson’s mouth every morning and after his nap is “Dee-Cee”. The second I open the bedroom door he pops up and says Dee-Cee, and he falls asleep repeating mama, dada, dee-cee every night.

The happiness I feel when I see a big moon at night, or hear the garbage truck in time to run outside and watch it, or catch the school bus every morning at 7:09 during breakfast with Jackson, or sing the Itsy Bitsy Spider to an open-mouthed grin, or play peek-a-boo with sheer determination to become invisible before the boo, pretty much solidifies that I am in a different phase of my life right now. I might have to go to bed at 8:15 because Davis thinks his day should start at 4:45 a.m., but I will squeeze¬†those chubby little cheeks and even chubbier legs all day long. And I might feel like I’m bartering with Kim Jung Un as we negotiate how much cereal Jackson needs in a bowl at any given time, but I’ll take him outside to see the moon and give him his nine kisses before bed every night. And as every phase passes, for them and for me, I can only hope that we become the best new moons we can be.