This weekend you turned 8 months. It’s one of those ages like 33 that doesn’t seem monumental because it’s a number people don’t talk about a lot. I mean, when I pretended to be a voracious reader of all things baby info when you were born, it seemed like 4 months and 6 months were these meccas- if we could just get to them, everything would be okay. You would have had all your growth spurts, slept through the night, ate real food, stopped spitting up, sat up on your own and folded your own clothes when they came out of the dryer.
Only some of that was true. And I will be one to say that 8 months is an amazing age. In fact, you have done so many new things in the past few weeks that I feel even guiltier than usual that I didn’t write them down. Not that I am trying to talk about myself. You will learn in time that I never do that.
Geez my little love… you are not just sitting up now, you are as all over the place as possible while still refusing to crawl. You can reach for things, like the laptop where you can somehow press commands your daddy and I didn’t know existed. You can fall in any direction and contort yourself back again into another position. If you’re feeling lazy, you look at me and cry with a look like I am crazy for thinking you are mobile. But the game is up. Because I see how you end up in a totally different part of your new big-boy crib than where you started during a nap. How are you going to explain that one? It’s amazing, really. One of my sheer, utter delights is seeing how you end up during a sleep. And this alone brings me so much joy that I am compelled to use words like “delight” which generally should be stricken from my lexicon unless I am talking about that Turkish candy. Which by the way- who likes Turkish Delight? I have never been able to solve that mystery.
So when you sleep
sometimes you put a doggy on your head or chest
or sometimes you wear a hat of stuffed animals
lately you have been turning onto your belly- score!
and sometimes when we can’t figure out why you are still whimpering in there (I mean, you love a good nap), we eventually break down and check on you and it turns out maybe you had good reason to complain
Jonah, a good lesson to learn is that no mommy is perfect. And this one has not bought crib bumpers yet or a video monitor. And in some of my in-laws’ homes, this would be considered criminal activity. But see, why would I intentionally stop you from having protruding limbs out of the crib? In this family, we don’t hate fun. Remember that, my son. And also
you now sleep through the night. 7 to 7. And we never did cry it out. Please somebody, put that accomplishment on my resume.
You also, if I must share, discovered your -um- twig & berries. Not Discovered. Just discovered. Lower-case d, okay. It’s kind of like a toe or sock- now something you can grab on to in lieu of anything better in the vicinity. But look, it made us smile. Daddy smiled really big. Whatever.
I took you to a few swim lessons. And I was skeptical. I mean, teach a baby to swim? Come on. But lo and freaking behold, they get you to go under water. And kick your legs. And holy- it was really great. I loved being there with you. Even that one lesson where you cried the entire time. The other babies were definitely shooting you dirty looks. I hope they get diaper rash this week. And the thing about swimming… this is an example where parents project their hopes, dreams and failures on to their children. I love being in the water even if I am not so talented at it. So work on that, mmkay. Oh and for daddy can you play guitar and be a basketball star? We’ll start on those soon.
Now I give you almost anything to eat. All that laboring over potential allergies and pureeing and sterilizing… it was good for a while. But you have graduated to cookies at Starbucks and grabbing food off other people’s plates. And I love that too. You are a world champion eater. I can take you anywhere. Once you get cleared for raw eggs, we have a date at Korean barbecue. Just like my daddy brought me and your uncles when we were little.
We are trying to learn a little sign language together. You make real sounds like you want to say words. You smile and kick your legs furiously now when you see your grandparents on Skype. You sometimes straighten your legs when we stand you up. You can grab anything, hold anything, play with anything. You go under water. You hug your stuffed animals. You sit and play in the bath as long as we’ll let you. You squeal. You let me kiss you as much as I want.
These are daily wonders that I hope I will always notice every day. In just two weeks, I am going back to work. You are going to nursery/daycare. What can I say about this fact of life except that I am terrified and yet hopeful. To say anymore would risk a big old cry on my part. And today, littlest love of my life, I don’t want to cry. I want to be so so so so so so happy that you’re here. And I am.