On Thursday you turned six weeks old. We're not sure how that happened, because we seem to remember the first six weeks of your older sisters' lives taking considerably longer to pass. You aren't the first, though, and you aren't colicky, so that probably explains part of why each day seems like it's moving faster than the day before. There are also a number of external factors influencing the pace of our lives right now, and hopefully once those things are a bit more under control things will slow down. The days of your newborn-ness are numbered, and if we think about that too much we start to get very, very sad. You won't be a little hedgehog baby much longer, snuffling and grunting and jerking and curling up under our chins.
Simply put, there's just a lot going on. Case in point: in the last week alone I've traveled to Utah and back with you as my travel companion (and you kept your cool despite your dumb mama forgetting your diaper bag and not realizing it until we reached the airport in Oakland, despite the ridiculous made-up threat of a $10,000 FAA fine by some disgruntled Southwest Airlines employee at the counter when I didn't have a birth certificate for you yet in a state where birth certificates aren't even issued until six weeks, despite sitting through an all-day meeting with a bunch of grown-ups); I've schlepped you and your sisters to downtown Stockton (my favorite city, heh) to visit the county recorder's office and fork over $42 to prove you were, in fact, born six weeks ago; I've stayed up far too late doing all sorts of things to prepare for your first official Air Force upheaval, one you won't even remember when you tell people some day that like your Daddy, you lived your first six weeks of life in California.
But through all this, or maybe because of all this, I'm paying attention. You are one sweet baby. You sleep and sleep and sleep and wake up only to eat and smile and gaze adoringly at your sisters (even when Gracie comes at you brimming with LOVE, LOVE, LOVE that would make anyone else in the world cower). You keep your fussiness to a designated time of day to keep your Baby Card current (it's more efficient that way, because then it doesn't cut into your sleeping). You love getting a bath and don't mind getting your diaper changed. You are a Swaddle Baby, one who can only sleep in a onesie now because the only blanket that can keep you tightly swaddled and happy is the pink "marshmallow" blanket from the Karahalises, making all jammies obsolete—you can only do one or the other without sweating like a little piggy. You're losing your hair little by little, causing us to make bets about whether you'll be a golden blonde or a towhead. You're still struggling through an especially bad case of baby acne, exacerbated by the California heat. You rotate between four very distinct Bridgets: Chubby-Grouchy Bridget, Quiet-Attentive Bridget, Sleeping Bridget Who Is An Actual Clone of Her Older Sister Madeline, and Screamy McBridget. Your facial features change depending on which one you happen to be at any given moment.
I also (strangely) hope you sneeze at least once a day, because it is quite possibly the cutest thing ever. See what you can do about that, OK?