Dear Ian, Last week you turned eight months old and you wowed us by honest to goodness crawling!
You've been experimenting with locomotion for weeks now, but haven't really taken more than one stretched out lunge. Despite that limitation you've managed to cover a lot of ground and now that you've figured out how to crawl multiple steps (are they steps if you're on your knees?) the world is at your command!
We haven't baby-proofed a thing and I'm not really sure what our top priorities are. Now that you're beyond that "dog with no legs" stage (as your Grandaddy would say) everything seems like a hazard.
This past month we had to say goodbye to our elder stateshound Sarah. I knew you would never remember her but it's still sad that you both couldn't have played together more. But I admit that a small part of me is grateful to not having a crawling baby and unstable incontinent dog in the same house.
I had a whole list of things to talk about for this newsletter, but it seems to have disappeared off my phone. It's probably for the best since this recounting of the last month will do more justice as it's all seemed like a blur.
You are at a stage now when no one is as good a Mama. I wouldn't say that you're actually talking, but it certainly sounds like it when you stretch your arms out to me with tears in your eyes saying "mamamamamamamama!" I know you'll survive without me, but it's hard to not pick you up when you do that. One say you'll want me to drop you off a block from school so no one sees me, so I should cherish the mamamamama days while I have them.
So I've learned to load the dishwasher with one hand and put diapers in the dryer with one hand and read my email on the iPhone after you've gone to sleep. You're still in the bed with us each night but you've gotten more squirmy and I've petitioned your Grandaddy to make us a trapeze wire for over the bed like your Uncle Perry had as a baby.
Everyone is waiting for that first tooth to come, but nothing has shown up yet. I've stopped looking for it myself, figuring you'll let us know when it's really there.
Despite having no teeth, you're doing a fine job of trying out new foods. You've mastered dill pickle spears and mushrooms and most soft fruits. And while you'll tolerate avocado, your favorite food by far is quacamole. I can't blame you for thinking it's better with the lime and onions and cilantro and tomatoes and garlic. Needless to say, we eat at a lot of Mexican restaurants (much to your father's delight).
Every month a new aspect of your personality shows up. You are ticklish and you love to play tug of war and peekaboo. You weigh a good 22 pounds now which feels more like a million when we're carrying you around. We're still having our lunch dates every weekday at day care. Every afternoon your father asks how you're doing. Today I told him that you were asleep when I got there, a little fussy until you had some boob and then you were too busy playing with the other babies to worry about me. But then again, you still cried out for me when I started to leave. Thus is the paradox of life with you.
But we are still loving every minute of it.