Wednesday, May 25, 2005

11 months

Dear Vivian:

Today you are 11 months and 8 days old. Although you still look like a baby (really wearing out those 3-6 month clothes, and still with the gummy grin), you are quickly approaching toddlerhood.

Which makes me sad, my sweet wonderful girl. I will miss your baby-ness. However, I know that the toddler you turn into will more than make up for that loss. Already, there are some good things going on this month.

First and foremost: if you had a baby book, dear child, I would be able to fill in "sleeps through the night" with 11 months. We can put you to bed around 7:30 and expect you to sleep soundly until 6 or 6:30 in the morning most nights. Oh, how we thank you for this feat, despite the fact that it is about 8 months late in coming! Best of all, you awake happy as can be, standing up in your crib, your cheeks all pink and warm, grinning at me as I open the door.

(Also you are grinning at your brother, whom you have woken up, and who is throwing his bears/blankets/socks/anything within reach into your crib.)

You are still crawling, seeming to have little interest in walking. In fact, you often still crawl with your stomach dragging along the floor, as if it is just too much trouble to get up on all fours. Occasionally, if we are outside, you'll crawl on your hands and feet-- not wanting to scratch up your knees, perhaps? You are standing a lot more often, and even cruise around the furniture unsteadily every now and then.

One thing that is making you really mad these days, and I can't say as I blame you: crawling is nowhere near as fast as walking. Since you spend your days with 2 very capable bi-peds, you have a hard time keeping up. More often then not, we'll all three of us be in your room, when I'll walk out to the living room to find Isaac's shoes, and he'll follow me, so I'll start putting them on out there. While this is going on, you plod your way out to us. At which point I'm finished with the shoes, and need to go back to grab a sweater. So I'll go, and Isaac will follow me, and you just watch us walking away for a few minutes. If you could talk, I just know you'd say, "You've got to be kidding me." Lately, you've figured out a way to fix this problem. Before I have a chance to walk away, you crawl on over to me, grab at my legs with all your might, and stand there, hollering until I pick you up. Lucky for you, you only weigh 15 lbs so usually I'll oblige.

A few days ago, you climbed onto your highchair tray and fell to the hardwood floor. Why did you do this? You are not, in general, a climber. As mentioned previously, you're not even truly crawling for a lot of the day. You haven't climbed up onto anything else. But for some reason that highchair tray is really appealing to you, even now.

This is making mealtimes a little challenging. I cannot strap you in, for reasons you don't need to know about. I spend the whole meal saying, "No, no no Viv. No climbing." And wrestling you back to your seat. "No, Viv!" "Sit down!"

Darlin', don't you remember the fall? How it hurt?All the tears and terror? And that was just me.

Remember last month I wrote how you aren't very oral? And I can just leave you alone and you may pick up some grime off the floor to inspect it, but you won't put it in your mouth? Well, apparently you read that entry and saw your chance to make good. I think you're finally getting some teeth, my girl, because lately you can't get enough into that mouth of yours. Pennies, water bottle caps, matchbox cars, dead flies--if it's on the floor, it's fair game for your mouth. We are all hoping you inherited your mother's strong constitution because, sadly, even this new trick of yours has not encouraged yours truly to become a better housekeeper.

Even though I still don't do floors, I do hug you and kiss you and munch on your ears daily. I love to hold you when you are tired, as you lay your tiny little head on my shoulder, sigh deeply, and sort of melt into me.

Today at the grocery store a 14 year old girl was in line ahead of us with her mother. She was being a horrible wench. Please never ever treat me that way, my sweet. Please remember how nice it is to let mommy hold you and comfort you and love you. Okay?

I love you, Viv.



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