Monday, December 21, 2009

Monthly Update: 11

Dear Foster,

Today you are 11 months old.

This month has flown by! We traveled to Florida for Thanksgiving and then spent these last few weeks getting ready for Christmas.

Your first Christmas is four days away. Holy cow!

We actually had the tree up before Thanksgiving. Your daddy was excited to get this party started, so to speak, and boy have you had fun with that tree!

There are no longer any decorations on the lower half. It didn't take long for you to figure out that those GLASS balls and cute little decorations come off! So each time you were able to reach one, we relocated it to a higher position. Now you simply tug on the lights, the whole time shaking your head "no". You know it's a no-no, but you do it anyway.

As your grandma would say, "You little imp!"

Meanwhile, you have started to stand independently. Granted, it's only for a few seconds at a time, but I believe that I have had several heart attacks watching you rise from sitting to standing all by yourself. Two such occasions occurred in the bathtub! I mean, really. Really? Are you trying to kill me? Porcelain tub, wet water, slippery soap suds, your little fragile head, need I go on? [Insert deep breath here...]

Oh, and while I take a deep breath, let me tell you about how you imitate me taking a deep breath! I never realized how often I do that until you started copying me. But, it's refreshing, isn't it? Calms the nervous system.

Lucky has become your favorite pet. You still like the cats, but the dog? He has become king! "Ga-ga, ga-ga, ga-ga!"

You love it when he licks your fingers while you're sitting in the high chair. He has only one motive, you see, but you think it's all about you, and you laugh and laugh and laugh.

This month you have learned how to fuss. I thought about starting this post with, "Dear Fusster", but that wouldn't be fair. It's not like you fuss all day, just most of it.

Oh, that's not what you want to eat? What can I get for you, your highness? Oh, you don't want to eat. You want to play. Fine, play. And, while you play I'll make a phone call. Oh, no? I'm not allowed to make a phone call? What's that you say? You want me to sit right here and play with you? Okay, I see. I must sit right here and play with you. Or at least watch you play. Or at least pretend I'm watching. But, whatever I do, I am not allowed to get on the phone. Or wash dishes. Or check email. Or eat. Because...wait, what's that? You want to eat now? Oh, I see, you want what I'm having. [Insert deep breath here...]

When we returned from Florida we began the "cry it out" thing to try and wean you from your Four o'clock in the Morning feeding. Thankfully, it worked. I think it took about three days. But, but! Now you're stuck on 5:30 AM.

What is it with you and waking at the (butt) crack of dawn?

So, now we let you fuss until 6:00 AM. We figure that Six o'clock in the Morning is an acceptable time to rise and shine. 6:30 would be better, but we don't want to press our luck.

At 6:00 AM I stumble into your room to nurse you and when you're finished we go back to my (and your daddy's) bed. It would be lovely if you would lay down and cuddle with us, but instead you climb us and the headboard. You romp and laugh. You point out all the snow flakes on our flannel sheets. You grab our noses and scrape our teeth. You do all of this until you're at the end of your rope, and threatening to jump off the bed if we don't put you down on the floor already! Then, your daddy takes you back into your room to change your diaper, and our day officially begins.

Two things that narrative brought to mind...

One, you can point to my (or any adult's) nose, ears, eyes, and teeth now. You say GA for nose, I for eye, and TH for teeth.

Second, you do not cooperate during diaper changes anymore. Where'd my sweet baby go? Oh, I'm just kidding. You're still very sweet, but diaper changes have become an Olympic sport up in here.

I try to distract you with a toy first. When that doesn't work we move to personal hygiene items (i.e., comb, diaper rash creme, etc...), and when that fails we resort to hazardous materials (i.e., knives, matches, etc...). No, not really. Sometimes, though, we give up and let you romp around naked for a little while.

Like after your bath when we're trying to get your diaper and your pajamas on. We call it your "freak out" time, because you literally go a little crazy with your naked self.

You pull the pillow off the rocker and throw it around. Then you throw yourself on it. Then you remember that you have toys over there and so you crawl over there to get them. But then you remember that you have blankets on the other side of the room, so you leap over there to climb on those. And then you remember that you forgot to bring the pillow along with you, so you crawl as fast as you can back over there to get that pillow. And, oh my gosh! Your daddy and I just nervously giggle as we watch all of this. Usually, though, you end up hitting your head and start to cry, so we jump on the chance to cuddle and then slap a diaper and some pj's on ya. BAM! We win.

All of that to say, what a whirlwind month this has been! Goodness. Gracious. Sakes. Alive. My little baby is almost a year old and I've got to start planning your first birthday party! [Insert deep breath here...]

Merry Christmas, my dear. "I love you more than there are stars in the sky and fish in the sea." — Nicholas Sparks



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