Words

 You are going through a mental leap right now, according to the know-it-all app that I have been using to try to divine what wonders are unfolding in that little baby mind of yours. And though some of the leap has taken physical form - all at once last week you started waving! And you continue to edge closer to walking unassisted - must curious is what I suspect is happening with your language.

You already had "mama" and "dada" and for awhile you've had "baba" (baby, I'm pretty sure) and "dodo" (which I am 90% sure means dog, as it is often said in response to the appearance of Milo). You had "up" but I haven't heard it in awhile, and also "uh oh," same. And I've been trying to do basic sign language with you, mostly "more" and "All done," but also "water" and "milk" and "nap." You mostly seem unimpressed with my attempts, preferring to ask for water by saying "UH UH" and gesturing to the cup with your chin. But then yesterday you and your grandmother and I were eating dinner at the picnic table outside. It was a mild summer night, and the nice part of eating outside is that you can make as much mess as you want and nobody minds. You were eating a simply staggering volume of pasta with cheese sauce, and you had it all over your face, and we were making silly laughing faces at each other and you were pulling me in for a wet sloppy kiss and I said "Oh I love you, yes, I love you I love you," and you said "AH uuvoo" and your grandmother gasped, so it wasn't just me, who heard it.

Then last night your dad and you and I were in the shower playing with shower toys and rinsing off the salt water from playing on the beach with some friends after our picnic in the afternoon. You love the handheld shower sprayer, and are the only baby we know who will reliably wash your own face. You were playing with your sprayer and we were talking about bellybuttons. You have a belly button, and mama has a belly button, and daddy has a belly button, and each time we would point and say "belly button," and then you said "ellehutton," and your dad gasped, and we asked each other "did he really just say that?"

It astonishes me, that we all learn to do these things, and eventually you will think nothing of walking across the room, or saying "bellybutton," and yet in the span of time I have kept this blog you have blinked into existence out of nothing. It's the closest thing to magic I have ever experienced.

Ten Months and Three Days

 Sweet Succotash! Or should I say Nermal. What a busy few days you have had. We celebrated your tenth month with a picnic on Old Burial Hill, in which you discovered picnic spoons and roamed among the headstones in striped overalls and a small bucket hat. At ten months and one day, the very day after your poor granddad returned to Florida, you took three unassisted quick little steps towards a rolling felt ball. You obligingly repeated the performance for your mother and her waiting cell phone, so I thank you for that. You have also begun to wave. You wave goodbye, and smile happily, and you wave hello on occasion. You are breaking through your top two incisors, which is giving you a tough time. One of them is through your gum, and one isn't quite. It's messing with your sleep, but you are handling it gamely. 

Your Manamana is here to help, but we are all realizing that there is more to helping with a nearly walking, practically toddler Succotash than any of us had perhaps anticipated. And so we have found a way for you to start going to a Montessori up in Beverly. I am trepidatious about it, but they have a plan for easing babies into it, and as I start to know your emergent character I come to think that you will really love it. You will have a whole room to roam and investigate and no one trying to keep you out of trouble. I think you will relish the freedom. And you so far have loved other babies. I know it will be good for you. And for us, as we will learn parenting things from their teachers who know babies better than we do, and we will also have time to do our actual jobs. But the first day they send me away is going to be tough. For me, if not for you.

Later this afternoon we will take you swimming in the baby pool, after a morning in which we all frolicked in the sprinkler. We are lucky to be here and not in NYC. No sprinklers or baby pools for us there. 

The world outside continues terrifying, but here at home, we have newly installed baby gates to keep you safe, and we have started to change your diaper on the floor, with you standing up. At moments I catch a glimpse of what your little boy face will look like, but you still have warm and rosy baby cheeks when you wake up in my arms from a nap, and I can still rain kisses on you. At least, for now. Still my baby. Though not for very much longer.