Letter from Mama, v9

Happy 9 months old, Miss Lil' Dude!

9 months . . . that's how long I was pregnant with you! I remember thinking it was the most important job I had ever done. I worried a lot about you, and how you were growing. I knew once I saw you and held you and made sure you were alright, I could relax. I knew there would be people on the other side there to help like your Daddy, the Grandmas, your "aunties", your Fairy Godmother, your great-aunts, your daycare lady . . . so many people would be there to love you and help you grow. That thought alone could calm me down when I was anxious. Just 9 months by myself, with you, then you would be shared. You would have your village and I would share you. It's just the way it works I guess. There is no staking claim to you, no hogging you. But I'll always have those 9 months.

This month your personality has emerged. You're showing Daddy and I what you like and don't like. You're becoming familiar with routine. You know to put your hands up as your highchair tray slides on. You know when you can start pulling your bib off. You know when you start crawling towards the TV or plant or screen door you are going to be told NO, loudly. Yet, you do it anyway. Sometimes, your impatience gets the best of you and you have complete meltdowns. That's right! You're not as perfect as we make you out to be. Just remember everything we do is for you and you'll obviously get what you need, even if it isn't right now.

Your fearlessness hasn't gone away yet, it makes my heart stop a little each time you take a big fall or get stuck somewhere. You're always fine after the hot, mad tears instantly come. You'll do it again, whatever it was you were doing. Like just today you were trying to climb into your baby swing in the dining room. You couldn't get the swing to stop, well, swinging, for you to get your little legs over the edge of the chair and into it. So, you sat and looked around for a minute, spotting the push-car toy you've been cruising around with and wheeled that over in front of your swing. I knew the combination of the moving swing and wheels on the car would be bad, but I just watched you. You climbed onto the car slowly, carefully reached for the swing . . . and, promptly fell on your head. Que the hot, mad tears. But, I was so proud of you, lil' dude. You're already figuring things out on your own. Never be afraid to try anything even if you think you'll get hurt. There's a reward in there somewhere.

Mama loves.