Monday, October 8, 2012

Dear Boy (9 months)

Dear Boy,

You are nine months old (and a bit - late again!) and we're starting that slippery descent into one year. That scares me - how can you have been in those world for almost a whole year? How is it possible you've only been here nine months? Weren't you always a part of this little family, leaving little spewy patches on the carpet and spraying food on the floor? Weren't you always brightening our days with your smiles and giggles and milky lips and sleepy-lidded eyes?

You started this month with two new acquisitions - tiny little teeth, fresh and sharp as needles, that are slowly growing upward from your gums. Because of them, I think you've discovered kisses - big slobbery open-mouth kisses on our faces - except on me, you like to clamp down on my jaw and bite for all you're worth. Those two little teeth are still quite sore as they push their way out - either that or you're getting some more. Maybe two in the top to match the others?

I travelled with you back to Newcastle and we stayed for six nights by ourselves in a hotel room on the foreshore. We slept in the same room and you kept me awake with your snuffling and snoring, just like your Dad, who we left at home. You loved Skype chats with Dad-dad-dad - and chuckled and giggled from 'answer with video' to 'end call'. Lovely Husband could barely get a word in edgewise. While we were away, you got to spend lots of time with Grandad and Granma J. and, most importantly, played lots with Vinnie Van Dog. You shared kisses upon kisses, patting his head and being whipped by his tail. He loved playing with you and would whine at the kitchen gate when he heard your voice at the front door.

You also got to spend a little bit of time with your uncles and your aunts and most of your cousins. Cousin W. piled you into the back of a tonka truck and zoomed you round the house, careering so fast around the corners, I was expecting a trip to emergency and your first stitches.

You are so very close to crawling - rocking back and forth on your hands and knees, reaching out with a tentative hand or two before belly-flopping back down and going for the easy roll. You still manage to get from one side of the room to the other, under the couch, under the coffee table, through the door - but you're frustrated. You just need to get those little legs of yours to work with the arms and you'll be off like a rocket. Lovely Husband's bin won't ever be safe then. For now, keep trying - you'll get there, I promise.

Tupperware melange and coffee, anyone?
You're starting to wave and will high-five occasionally and your favourite things to do at the moment are emptying things (doesn't matter what- if it has something in it, it needs to be empty!), smashing the xylophone/piano and throw things from your high chair. You don't really have a favourite food as you're more interested in throwing than eating. You're even chucking away your toast after just a cursory bite or slobber, which shocks me after the love affair you've had with it. We've just changed you from four bottles a day to three, and you're drinking really well. You're thankfully still doing two naps a day. I'm not sure I'm ready to lose one of them, so let's leave that milestone for later... much later. Stay my baby boy for a little while longer.

Much love,

Your mum.
Hey! Who finished my coffee?

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