I almost feel like I can’t call you a baby anymore. Your father texted me a picture of you the other day and I thought, “When did he become a little boy?” You may only be eight months old, but you are quickly losing that chubby, cherub likeness. I watched a video of you from Christmas, and you already look so much older!
Strangers still stop us on the street – or in the grocery store, or in line at the coffee shop – to say how gorgeous you are. I know I wear mother-colored glasses, and I’d find you beautiful no matter what, but these compliments make me feel proud.
This was a sad month, as your great-grandmother passed away. Sadly, you will have no memories of her, but know that you gave her such great joy when we flew back east in November. She was a wonderful, sweet, amazing, beautiful woman, the mother of my father, who also left us too early. We spoke often, especially when I was pregnant with you. I will miss her greatly.
For you, this month was all about scooting. You still haven’t figured out how to bring your legs up to a crawl, but you’ve become a master at the “army crawl.” And, you’re seriously fast. I’m quickly realizing the truth of the parental mantra about not turning your back for a second. We began the endless process of baby-proofing the house, which started after I saw you trying to stick your finger in a socket. I’ve also had to rearrange the bookshelf in your nursery. You’ve discovered the bottom shelf and love pulling out Dad’s comic books.
You use your index finger to explore, and buttons and clasps are indescribable discoveries for you. When you get really excited, you flap your arms like a bird. You beam when you see us in the morning, or when we pick you up from Grandma B’s.
More than anything, you love spoons. If you looked at me the way you look at spoons, I don’t think I’d be able to leave for work in the morning. Woe to the person who tries to take one away from you. Your wail of visceral despair can be heard for miles. Other favorite toys include anything that makes a sound or anything that can be banged against something to make a sound.
This month, we discovered Puffs. I say “we” because they’ve greatly improved the quality of both of our lives. If I need a few seconds to get ready in the morning, I hand you some puffs. At restaurants when we can’t find spoons (the horror!), out come the puffs. We’ve also begun to feed you small pieces of food from our own meals. You’ve had two bottom teeth for about a month, and the top left tooth just broke free this weekend.
You had your first real cold this month, and it kicked your butt. I know because I had the same cold, and my immune system has almost 30 years on yours. It was tough watching you struggle to simultaneously drink a bottle or suck your thumb and breathe because your nose was so stuffed. You woke up several times a night for coughing fits. The cough still isn’t 100 percent gone.
You hate having your face wiped, which was a problem when you were sick and green gunk kept spewing from your nose. The only time I can wipe it without you complaining is in the bath, where the splashing water and rubber duckies are too distracting. I sing “Whale of a Tale,” and we have a grand time together.
I’m very excited about your bedtime, which we continue to push up. I’d say we’re averaging about 7 p.m., with the occasional 7:45 p.m. When we keep you up that late, you get punch-drunk and laugh at everything we do. Once you’re down for the night, you won’t stir until about 5:30 a.m. Do you know what this means, Charlie? YOU ARE SLEEPING THROUGH THE NIGHT! I recall your three-hour bursts of sleep and wondering if there’d ever be a time we weren’t exhausted all of the time. Well, baby, we made it!
Now we’ve just got to work on sleeping in.