Nine months. Wow.
Nine months is the fictional length of a pregnancy (because 40 weeks is really closer to ten months, and you were born early anyway, so it doesn’t really apply to you). We can officially say that you’ve existed on the outside longer than on the inside. Is it nice to be free from prison, Miles? Is the food better? The air more gaseous? You are certainly taking advantage of your freedom these days. While you can’t quite crawl, you’re awfully close; you get up on all fours and rock and scootch, and you can roll just about anywhere you want to go. You also love—love—to walk while holding on to someone’s hands. When you do it, I can just feel the glee emanating from you. It’s like you’re thinking, “I knew I was a biped all along.”
Right now you’re lying on the floor of your play room with one red sock in your hand and zero socks on your feet. I don’t know where the other sock went. This is the way it goes. We’re going to have to get some socks that are harder to get loose now that the cold weather is coming, though you really don’t ever seem to get very chilly. I credit your fat layers. Your thighs go on for consecutive hours.
This has presented a bit of a problem for your dad and me. For those people who regularly read this blog, we’ve gone back to (mostly) co-sleeping. You’re not nearly as much of a flaily ukulele as you used to be, and we’ve found it’s just the best way for us all to get good sleep. Typically we put you to bed in your crib, then when you wake up in the night, I haul you into our bed and we all hang out together until morning. This is mostly good; you do kind of crowd me over to the edge, but your dad is nice about pulling you over to him now and then. The problem I referred to above is one of temperature. We’ve had some cool nights, but you refuse to sleep with any kind of blanket or sheet on top of you, even if you’re not wearing pants or socks. What I need to do is invent a V-shaped comforter so your dad and I could both be covered up while you chill out in the middle. You’ve gotten so snuggly lately, which is probably how you keep warm with no blanket.
One of your best new tricks this month involves recognizing people and getting excited to see them. When I hear your dad’s bus go by, I hold you up to the window. It’s obvious the moment you catch a glimpse of him, because you start wiggling like a trout on a hook. When he gets up close to the house, he taps the window, and you give him a huge grin. Something similar happened this morning. You had a doctor’s appointment, so your dad stayed home to go to it with us. You and I were in your room where I was changing your diaper and clothes, and you heard a sound in the bathroom. You jumped and started wiggling, so I took you over to where you could see your dad getting ready. The thrill you got out of seeing him at that unexpected time was adorable.
A couple of weeks ago, your dad had to go out of town, so we went to stay with Mubby and Skittergramps. Your dad’s flight got in late, after you and I were already in bed, but you woke up when he came in. It took you a couple of minutes to figure out what was going on, but even in the dark I could feel it dawning on you. “What’s going on here? This is unusual. Who’s that? Wait, could it be? Is it? Omigod omigod omigod it’s DADDY.” You squealed and wiggled and bounced, and it took us another hour to get you back to sleep. I think it was worth it, though. Your dad told me later that he counts that among the most heartwarming moments of his life.
You’re like that—you just get so excited about things. Sometimes, seemingly out of nowhere, you just give a shriek of delight, like you remembered something wonderful, or all your little excitement neurons got together and blasted at once.
You’re also so curious. Everything grabbable ends up in your hands, and sometimes in your mouth. You have four teeth that are good at chomping, and I think more are on the way soon, given your recent fussiness and increased desire to chew (toys, books, zippers, table edges, human chins). You enjoyed visiting Uncle Tyler in Nebraska, and you were even quite well-behaved on the long drive, thanks largely to Mubby’s entertainment efforts.
Most of the time I end these notes with some kind of weepy note about how I can’t believe you’re so big and I want you to be my baby forever, and that’s still true, but right now I’m getting really excited about your advancements. You are turning into such a little person, with your own interests and likes and dislikes (the noise and face you made when I put some sweet potatoes into your mouth were pretty outrageous). You love to videoconference via iChat AV, play with balloons, and bounce in your command station: bouncing triggers the music, and we have a game in which I dance for you when the music is going and freeze when it stops, and then you bounce again to start me dancing. I always get tired before you do.
The look in your eyes is sometimes so knowing that I feel like any minute now you’re going to open your mouth and give me your opinion. I’m betting it’s going to be something like, “Mother, I do appreciate the switch you made to the apple-cinnamon Teddy Poofs. They really have a more elaborate flavor profile than the original variety.” I would also accept “mama.” Either way.
Oh, gross. You just licked the bottom of my bedroom slipper.
That’s okay. I still think you’re a genius.