Double digits, baby! I meant to write this post last night, when you officially hit 10 months old, but I was just too exhausted. You went to bed close to 8 p.m. (omggasp!), and I was asleep within the hour. You’re quite the rambunctious dude!
The theme of this month is “Order/Chaos.” We put things in their place, then you come around and create disorder. Tucked-away toys are strewn about the house. Stacking cups are definitely no longer stacked. iPhones, keyboards, USB cables, my Canon XLR – anything left in your reach is fair game. We’ve been told this is an important developmental step and that you’re actually doing real work when you create chaos. How about next month we work on putting things back, ok?
You’re working on a few new tricks. Opening and closing doors is a hobby, and you’ve discovered to your extreme dissapointment that a closed door means “off limits.” Grandma Z went into the bathroom and you sat outside and wailed until she came out. You like to pinch (what’s that about?), and you grind your teeth constantly. My frayed nerves would like you to stop that NOW.
You began clapping after your BFF Charlotte visited and showed you how it was done. You clapped throughout our entire walk a few days later. At one point, the driver of a Vitamin Water truck clapped back at you and giggled when we stopped at a corner. You bring so much joy to the world.
You’re nowhere near talking, but you babble with the best of them. While Charlotte showed us how close she is to saying “duck,” you were dumping a laundry basket filled with your toys over your head. I know she’s four days older than you, and a girl, but your dad and I can’t help but point to everything in our house and say, “Charlie, DUCK.”
You’re still the most beautiful baby I’ve ever seen. I know I’m biased, but I see a lot of babies at work, and I’m a pretty good judge of cuteness (I married your father, after all). You are cuter than 99 percent of them. Good genes, I guess.
I constantly plead with my terrible memory to keep hold of the moments we spend together. We have such magical times, yet I know these sweet memories and the happiness I feel experiencing them will soon be irretrievable. Stupid brain.
I want to remember you crawling – plumpish and bumbling and eager – toward your father’s outstretched arms at the park at sunset.
Or how I felt when you fell asleep on me for the first time since you were a newborn. I snuggled your warm body against mine until my muscles were numb.
Or how you laughed uproariously when I covered our heads with a big blanket and made you and I a private tent.
Charlie, you have so much to teach us about living life.