As I write this post, you are curled up, fast asleep, in the Moby wrap against my chest. I can feel the rise and fall of your rhythmic breathing, your gentle breath against my skin, and a bit of drool leaking down to my boob. My nose is right above the top of your head and I find myself taking deep breaths so I can prolong the sensation of inhaling your scent. How can you smell this amazing?!
These are the times when I think to myself, “Remember this,” because I know in a blink of an eye that you’ll be grown up and we’ll no longer be able to cuddle this way. I am so grateful for this moment.
Speaking of growing up, you did a lot of that this month, both physically (see this post) and intellectually. Your biggest discovery was your hands, which now spend a lot of time in your mouth, covered in drool. You’ve also begun licking things: pillows, clothing, toys, the cat’s tail, etc.
This month you lost most of your hair and started to smile, although those probably aren’t related. Will your hair come in dark like Mom’s or light like Dad’s?
A new cry of yours has emerged, sort of. When you’re fussing about something, but not quite committed enough to wail about it, you let out this short-lived “waaaaaaa.” Then you just look grumpy. VIDEO PROOF.
The other night I sang you “Goodnight Sweetheart” through tears.
Everywhere we go, people coo at you. You yawned in front of several people and I heard “awww” in stereo. I’m most surprised by how much old men love you (OK, I know that sounds bad). They walk past us, see you, then backtrack so they can get a better look. Through smiles, they often talk about their own grandchildren. I love that you bring them joy.
I’m a bit confused by the way women act around you. What is it about babies that makes them “want to eat you”? This is the strangest thing I’ve ever heard. Some women will even PUT THEIR MOUTHS around your thighs, wobble their heads back and forth, and make grrrrrrrr sounds. Back off carnivores!
Your personality is emerging, and I doubt you’re going to be a lovey-dovey kid. When we rub your legs or touch your tummy or stroke your chin, you flinch away as if to say, “Hey, knock it off!” Well, too bad. Your Dad and I are big cuddlers and you’ll just have to deal with it.
Your father – the godless, erudite liberal that he is – has been reading Keats to you, and yesterday you started a book called, “Is Religion Dangerous?” I bet you miss Valley of the Dolls.
You are fierce in everything you do. You thrash your legs and pound your arms during tummy time. You growl when you eat. You even snort in your sleep.
I had my first birthday as your Mama this month, and you gave me an unforgettable gift. The three of us were at breakfast and I nursed you as I awaited my delicious French Toast. After a few minutes, you got upset and refused to re-latch. I’ve learned not to fight with you during times like this so I passed you off to Dad, just as the waiter set my plate down. As soon as you were upright, you released a deafening belch, and a perfect cascade of gooey spit-up sailed through the air and landed right in the center of my plate.
Happy birthday, Mom!