January 15, 2026
You turned six months old this week, born to a mother whose own mother was already slipping away from brain cancer. We worried you might tip the delicate balance of a house already bowed by
sorrow and bracing for loss.
But you were anything but.
You arrived steady. Soft. As if you understood the moment and came bearing your own kind of grace.
Always smiling, cooing, offering something back. I don’t think that’s just baby nature. I think it’s you—some quiet gift you brought with you from the start.
I love the warm weight of you in my arms, like a little sack of sugar.
We stand in front of the mirror, and you smile and chatter at your reflection like you’ve met a dear friend.
You are weirdly delighted by a diaper change, as if being cared for is its own kind of joy.
And maybe that’s the best part of you: the peace.
Rocking you. Breathing in your sweet baby smell. Listening to your soft little sounds as you talk yourself to sleep. In those moments, the whole room seems to exhale.
As you grow, we will keep Nana Rhonda close—spoken of, remembered, woven into your story and into the love that holds you.
And I hope you always feel what a gift you are, and how deeply you are loved.
We love you, Gigi and Nana