It seems kind of ironic that I am sitting here at 2.38am, writing about the deliciousness of having a five-month-old baby, while the cherub in question sits at my feet in his bouncer, sucking loudly on his dummy and refusing to go back to sleep after downing a massive bottle and weeing all over the couch. But that just goes to show you HOW delicious babies are at this age. Even I, sleep deprived and cranky as I am, can overlook the downsides in the face of such blinding cuteness.
And let me tell you, it has come as a shock. I always thought nine months was the cutest age. Clearly, I was mistaken. Here is why, from head to toe.
His wispy golden hair. And most importantly, the curl over his right ear. It is, frankly, the cutest baby curl ever. His hair has also started to dry in a Billy Idol-style mohawk after shampooing which is also hilarious.
His big eyes. When he fixes those baby blues on me during a feed, I am toast. They are so big and so blue. I almost can’t imagine them changing now (although they still might).
His chubby cheeks. We took Charlie Bear to the pool yesterday and I had to put suncream on his face. Rubbing it into his cheeks was like massaging moisturiser into two huge marshmallows. Those cheeks are kissed, stroked and patted about a million times a day because they are too cute and too fat to be real.
His rosebud mouth. Those gummy grins. Oh! I literally would lie at this kid’s feet and hand him the world on a platter to get another smile out of him (and yet he gives out thousands a day for free). And don’t get me started on those baby giggles. TOO MUCH.
His soft, milky-sweet neck. Only a five-month old baby could get away with hiding all manner of fluff, mummy’s hair strands and half-chewed CBA brochures under his fat little double chin. The things we find languishing in the neck area at bathtime, let me tell you.
His upper arms. The Michelin-man pudginess almost makes Charlie look like he has baby muscles. It’s an area of his little body also ripe for much kissing, slobbering, gentle nibbling etc etc.
His fat little hands. I must’ve spent countless hours playing with those pudgy paws, sausage fingers and all. I love it when he pats my face and he never stops touching Mr Chick’s face, checking for stubble. When he’s half asleep and I stick the dummy in, his hands always creep up his face and gently tug or pull at that dummy. They want to be in his mouth so bad, and that dastardly dummy is the interloper. I’ve tried everything to distract his hands from that dummy – with another dummy (or two), a baby blanket, a baby washer tied in a knot, a foam bath toy… and still, if he’s not sleepy enough, those fat paws do their creeping-up-to-the-mouth dance to pull that dummy out.
His bottom. That bot-bot is so adorably cute that Mr Chick and I cannot begin bathtime without patting it and marvelling at its adorableness. We sound like total perverts, I know, but you try to hold a fat, naked baby in your arms and not give that pudgy little bottom a pat or ten. AHHHH.
His chunky thighs. The creases. The rolls. The chub! Oh lordy.
His sweet little feet. From the plump little soles to his sausage toes, Charlie’s feet are so divinely delicious they almost deserve a post of their own. Don’t tempt me.
Is five months the best age? What’s your favourite age for a baby?