I have a deep flaw that I hope you don’t inherit.  It’s something I struggle with daily — hourly — and I honestly work on it. I’m trying to get past it.  I don’t want to be like this.  I’m a serial procrastinator, almost to the point where I think I’m mentally incapable of NOT procrastinating.  And hence, why your fifteen month letter wasn’t written on time.  Then, once I procrastinate something past the point of being ridiculous, I decide I just won’t do it, because it would be stupid to do it late.  You see?  Like this.  It’s May 21st, over a week since your fifteen month birthday, and I’m finally writing this.  I almost didn’t write it; I almost decided I should just skip this month because hey, screw it, I’m already so late, what’s the point?  And I’m sorry.  Because you deserve better than this.

But this letter shouldn’t be about me.  It should be about you.

This month, I’ve begun to call you “my baby” out of sheer stubbornness, because you’re clearly a kid now.  You are independent, very capable of expressing your likes and dislikes, and you like to do things on your own schedule.  You’ve begun sleeping through the night most nights as well, which is amazing, although you’re still nursing (which is also, in its own way, amazing, although I won’t lie, I’m looking forward to having my boobs back to myself eventually).  You’ve become more verbal, making sounds like “yiyiyi” and “bwah” and sometimes even multi-syllable sounds, and although Mama & Dada are still the only words we really hear from you, you have said “girl” (while pointing at one in a book!) and “dog”.  Usually, though, you like to point at dogs and exclaim, “Ah!”

after you “helped’ us with potting plants

You love Yo Gabba Gabba.  Even the mention of that phrase makes you giggly and giddy.  When the television’s off, you’ll sometimes grab the remote and wave it around while pointing at the screen, babbling very seriously.  You want to watch your show.  If I turn the television on and it’s NOT your show, you babble even more seriously at me.  It’s pretty hilarious.  I just distract you by taking you outside!

Sometimes those jaunts outside end up at Starbucks, which is a place you dearly love.  The blended strawberry lemonade basically makes your day.  I can’t even carry it when we buy it, because YOU want to, and whatever, who am I to deny you the simple pleasure of holding a cool drink on a hot day?

We’ve been able to spend a nice amount of time outdoors, particularly in the last week or so.  You love to take the dogs’ leashes in hand and wander around the area, laughing and exploring your world.  The dogs were pretty bad at letting you handle them at first, but they’ve fortunately gotten to be a lot better about it and the three of you have a blast now.

When we’re inside together, though (as we have been a lot this month — the weather’s been unseasonably cold), you like to show off your climbing skills.  You get on top of the couch and prance back and forth along the top of it, although fortunately — for now at least — you listen when we tell you to sit down.  You use a laundry basket as a stepping stool to climb up into my computer chair, and if the chair isn’t facing so you can sit down in it, then you just grab the back of it and hang there until you let yourself go.  SERIOUSLY, MAIA.  You monkey.

On a less stressful note, however, you also like to play with your blocks, read books, and draw.

You’re the center of my world; you keep me grounded.  Your beautiful smile is the first thing I think of every morning when I hear you calling out for me from your room. I will never forget when we sat on the couch together, you in my lap, and dipped a chocolate chip-studded granola bar into peanut butter to share with one another, or how you spin yourself in circles until you get “ditzy” then laugh and laugh when you fall on your bum, or how you start to dance at the merest hint of a sing-song tone in my voice.  I will never forget when you climbed up onto the chair beside me on the balcony and we both read our own books, or the way your eyes grew huge and wet when you tasted the bit of Nutella I smeared on a cherry for you.  You are forever making some little sort of mischief, whether it’s opening the cereal cabinet and helping yourself to handfuls, chasing the dogs around with a plastic spoon in hand, or pulling out your hair clips.

I want you to know, Maia, that despite my procrastination on things like writing, I never procrastinate on you.  You are my number one priority.  Always.

We love you desperately,
Mama & Dada.

]]> http://averygoodyear.net/letters-to-maia/month-fifteen/feed/ 1 http://averygoodyear.net/letters-to-maia/month-fourteen/ http://averygoodyear.net/letters-to-maia/month-fourteen/#comments Wed, 14 Apr 2010 02:49:50 +0000 Tatiana http://averygoodyear.net/?p=2415 Dear Maia,

This has been a crazy busy month for all of us.  The weather’s begun to look and feel like spring, and we have been making the most of it.  I’m constantly struck by how different — and wonderful — this year is as opposed to last; last year at this time you couldn’t even roll over, and now you can practically outrun me.  It’s amazing.  You’re amazing.

You and Dada are pretty dear friends these days, even if you still come to me for comfort most of the time.  You two are forever hanging out together…

… while I snap pictures, wondering how I got so lucky as to have such amazing people in my life.

You know “yes” and “no”, nodding or shaking your head vigorously when appropriate, as well as “hi” and “bye”, although you basically HATE the second word because it generally means I’m heading off to work.  There are so many times this month where I’ve thought, we understand each other now! I’ve thought that you and I are on the same wavelength and that we communicate very effectively with one another.

But then you’ll freak out the way you’ve been doing lately, where all you do is scream and cry as if you’re being drawn and quartered, your fingers gripping my leg or arm or (this is the worst) my chest as you simply wail, and there is no placating the beast that has possessed you.  It’s a little bit annoying, Maia, I’m not gonna lie.  Sometimes when you get like that, your dad and I wonder if we can trade you in and get our happy baby back, thank you very much.  To be honest, I think you’re getting frustrated that you can’t communicate with us more; I think you have a lot to say that you don’t yet understand how to give voice to.  I can understand how that’d be infuriating.

The good news is, most of the time, you’re happy.  I know I’m supposedly biased, but I’m pretty sure that you have the best smile in the world.

One of the greatest things that happened this month was totally unintentional.  I sat at my computer, eating a sandwich and an apple; you ran over, took the apple off my plate, and next thing I know you were doing this:

I laugh every single time I see this picture.  You were so into that apple that it was just amazing, and when I tried to turn it so you wouldn’t bite into the core, you threw an absolute fit.  I wasn’t trying to steal it, I promise!  I just didn’t want you to eat seeds.  Lesson learned.  I now cut the core out before I give you the apple.

Your independent streak is, as you can tell, still going strong.  Mama’s great for comfort, but when we’re out and about, you want desperately to be one of the big kids.  Your entire face lights up when you see other children walking around, and I can’t count the number of times you’ve gone racing off after one.

You’ve learned how to give kisses, and you love it.  You kiss dada, me, the dogs, yourself in the mirror, yourself on the iPod, your stuffed animals… anything and everything that makes you happy, you can be caught kissing.  If I purse my lips and go “mmmmm”, you lean forward and press your mouth to mine, avoiding looking in my eyes as though you’re a shy baby, and give me kiss upon kiss.  It’s awesome.

I’m pretty sure you’re also going to give me gray hair and ulcers and strong leg muscles from chasing you all over the place as you grow up.  To this I say, bring it on. I’m ready to take on the world with you.

We love you, papaya.

Love,
Mama & Dada.

Well, it took over a year, which is actually better than I thought I might do, but I finally forgot to write your monthly letter and have it posted at 1:07am on the 13th for the first time.  I don’t even have a good reason for this; I’m just busy and distracted as usual, spending all day with you (or at work) and all evening with your daddy.  I’m certain this won’t be the last time I let you down (although it would be wonderful if it were), but it’s a disappointment to me nonetheless.

After realizing how few pictures I’d been taking, I resolved to take more this month.  And fortunately, there have been some gloriously beautiful days of late, where we’ve gone outside as a family and explored the world.  You want to know what you explored and promptly decided you hated?  MUD.

You see, you and I took the dogs out one afternoon when all the snow was melting.  You held onto Joss’ leash (because he is a good dog and will not try to yank you off your feet, like his sister), and when you dropped it, he loped away over the sodden ground towards the brush to do his doggie business.  You decided to follow him.

But the ground was uneven, and you stumbled after a few steps, your hands and knees pressing down into the mud.  Maia, I wish I’d been taking video, because the way you reacted to this was hilarious.  Your face contorted into a fierce scowl and you let out this screech of absolute disgust as you scrambled to stand up.   You promptly retreated onto the sidewalk and, so help me, I could NOT get you to walk out onto the grass again.  You would not chase Joss and you would not come hug me — you just stood there, angry, fingers splayed wide and muddy palms outstretched.  That was the end of that little outing.

There were plenty of other outings this month, though.

Most notably, one of your playgroups has started up again.  So far, you have really enjoyed it, and you’re definitely one of “the big girls” there, far ahead of your peers in terms of how steady you are on your feet.  You run, Maia.  And you’re so strong.  You’re not interested in playing with one little toy; you want to lift up the entire box of toys and walk around with them.  You don’t want to sit in my lap to do arts and crafts, you want to sit on the chair by yourself and mess with the Play-Doh at your own pace (and “your own pace” seems to be pinching off little pieces of it and setting them to either side in neat little piles).

You’re still nursing several times a day — I’d venture to say five or six — which is surprising, given how much you love to eat.  You will nurse when you wake up, then stuff yourself full of Cheerios and fruit and juice, and an hour later you’ll walk over to me and start tugging at my shirt, demanding to nurse again.  Sometimes I wonder if you’re trying to get more attention from me and don’t really want to eat.  I guess I still have a lot to learn.

You eat everything and anything. It’s awesome.  Usually for lunch, you’ll have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, but sometimes we’ll get adventurous and have grilled cheese.  Or we’ll have brunch, which is also one of your favourites; you love eggs, bacon, and toast.  I’ve found one thing you don’t really like so far, even though I called it an awesome name: “funfetti”, which is grated raw carrot mixed with shredded cheese.  You kind of poked at it, pushed it away, and that was that, you were finished with it, you wanted more strawberries and red grapes and Goldfish, thank you very much Mommy.

It’s amazing to watch you grow up, Squeaky (this is a new, very appropriate nickname).  You have always had such personality, but you outdo yourself every day.  I love you dearly, but moreso, I’m noticing how much your Daddy loves you.  When you two play together, it’s almost like I don’t even exist, because you are so wrapped up in one another, your big brown eyes shining, your smiling faces mirrors of each other.  But when you’re upset, you still want me, and sometimes this hurts him.  If you’re having trouble falling asleep and he comes to comfort you, you’ll wail and shriek and arch your back while protesting, “MA MA MA MA!” as he tries to rock you in his arms.  It’s frustrating to both of us, but I have to admit, there are few things as precious as when I take your sleepy weight into my arms and you wrap your legs around my torso and nuzzle your head into my shoulder.  You trust and love me so completely.

And you wanna know what?  The feeling’s mutual.

We love you,
Mama & Dada

Beautiful.

That is the word that comes to mind whenever I think of you.  And while it is so often a comment on your physical state — your shining, dark eyes, your long, narrow limbs, your perfect round belly — you embody beauty in every way.

Spiritually, you are radiant.  The unadulterated joy in you find in everything humbles us.  You are just as amazed by the little plastic tab from a bread bag as you are by a balloon.  And let me tell you, that’s a lot of amazement; today at the dollar store, we found some mylar balloons and you started squealing, reaching for them, and babbling, nearly tumbling from your Daddy’s arms.  When he gave them to you and set you down, you caressed the mylar and patted it, smiling in your wide-mouthed way, your deep dimple visible only when you peeked around the side of the balloon to make certain we still watched you.  Of course we did.  How could we take our eyes from you?

It’s so hard for me to write this, Maia, because I feel like words are insufficient.  I wish I could distill every bit of delight you bring to our lives and put it into this letter, but it’s like trying to catch a waterfall in a thimble — no matter how hard I try, I won’t succeed.  But I’ll try.

After I zipped up your pajamas tonight, I leaned down and kissed you full on the lips, then smooched your cheeks and neck and chin.  You laughed from deep in your belly in a blissfully helpless way, twisting to and fro as if trying to escape, but your little hands grabbed mine and held on tight.  “You’re going to have a wonderful birthday,” I told you over and over again between kisses, “we love you so much.”

I read your bedtime book, and before I even closed it you were leaning back, mouth open, head turned towards me, wanting to nurse to sleep as you always do.  And usually when you nurse to sleep, I read, but tonight I watched you instead.  I watched the perfect shape of your pink lips, the way the tip of your nose touches my skin, and as your eyes fluttered shut, I felt tears fill my own.  My vision blurred.  I want it to be 1:07am, February 13th, 2010, because I want to know that you have been here every second of a year, that there will never again be a moment in time untouched by you.

Maia, beauty can be found in happiness and sorrow, joy and bitterness, hope and despair.  You will explore all of these things in your life, and I know that you have the grace of spirit to learn from them — and your father and I will be at your back, waiting to support you when you need us.

We love you so much, papaya.  Thank you for showing us what it truly means to be beautiful.

Love,
Mama & Dada

Today you turn eleven months old, and all I can think is how young that seems.  When I think of you, I think of a kid; when I think of an eleven month old, I think of a baby.  But you’re not.  You walk, talk, interact; you have a distinct personality, you know what you like (and don’t like), you are fiercely independent, and above all, you are fun.  Babies?  They’re definitely not as fun.

You love to dance and clap.  I don’t really like to leave the television if I’m not watching something in particular, but it’s tempting to when I know that any music — fast, slow, awesome or stupid — is going to catch your attention and cause you to start shaking your groove thang.

This past month has been an exciting one for you, with Grandma visiting, going to see family, and your first Christmas, as well as other fun things like taking Buffy to the vet on Boxing Day (stupid dog) and going to see the Olympic torch pass through our town.  People keep asking me if you “get” Christmas, and if by that they mean do you understand the concept of celebrating Jesus’ birth or Santa Claus bringing presents then, no, you don’t “get” Christmas.  But if they’re really asking whether you had fun celebrating the holiday, then the answer is an emphatic yes.

You enjoyed the Christmas gatherings, and although you were not terribly interested in opening presents (a fact which blows my mind, because if we were to give you a newspaper, you’d spend the next half hour shredding it and squealing with glee), you sure did like them once they were out of the wrapping paper.

By far, your favourite presents were the blocks.  Babcia and Grandma both got you blocks, which is great because you now have enough that, no matter where you go in the house, there will always be a block hiding out somewhere nearby.  Mommy and Daddy are marginally less thrilled at this fact than you are.

You also love your books (not so much the puppet in the background, obviously).  You were given something like four or five books for Christmas, and you like to bring them to me one at a time to read.  The one you’re holding in this picture, How Do I Love You?(aff) made me cry the first time I read it to you, because it’s so damned sweet.

I have to say, though, that your favourite part of this month was going to visit Santa.  Not because of Santa himself — you see, in that picture you have your worried face on, your oh shit why are Mommy & Daddy not holding me? face — but because here, you met your soulmate: Man Playing Guitar And Singing.

You stared at this guy for like four or five minutes, Maia, and every time we moved you away you just beelined back to him.  You weren’t interested in dancing or clapping with his music; you simply wanted to watch him in amazement.

Since then, you’ve learned how to point at things that intrigue you, which I’m somewhat grateful you didn’t understand then as you would have pointed at him the whole time, as if we didn’t already know you were interested.  Here at home, you point at things like the floaty balloon that came attached to my birthday flowers, or the dogs, or the mirror, and we show them to you, and you are delighted with the fact that you are communicating with us clearly — or more accurately, you’re delighted that we’re listening.

You really enjoy pointing at the pictures on the walls — they’re pictures of you.  We got them for Daddy for Father’s Day.  I hold you, point at each of the 14 pictures, and describe what is going on in them.  Mostly we giggle together — Maia doesn’t like her hat! is a pretty funny picture, I must admit — but there is one picture that always makes me stop in my tracks, so it’s the last one we look at together.

I say, “This is brand-new Maia, not even a minute old,” and I start to choke up as I look at you, naked and pink and squinty-eyed, curled up on my chest, your dark hair plastered to your forehead, your perfect little pouty lips, your hand pressed to my skin.  That you were ever so small and new baffles me, and I can’t believe that from that new little creature has sprung this active, sassy toddler.

You are still so exquisitely perfect that it makes my heart hurt, though.  I love every moment of being your Mama better than the last, and we are so lucky to have you in our life.

All our love,
Mama & Daddy.

Today you turn ten months old, and I must say, I would keep you at this age forever.  You, right now, are more perfect than you’ve ever been, more loving, more playful, and more interactive; our days are filled with smiles and laughter.

The big news this month is that you’ve mastered the art of walking.

You love to walk, and we love to watch you walk.  You are so steady on your feet that it looks like you’ve been walking for a heck of a lot longer than you have.  And it was funny, Maia, how you suddenly decided — just like I knew you would! — to start walking one day.  I went to work and you were cruising along holding on to furniture; I came home, you walked over to greet me, and that was that.  You were walking.

This has lead to a whole new way of living for us, because now you follow us (me) everywhere, and you are FAST.  You are REALLY, REALLY speedy. I literally have to speed up a bit if I’m trying to get into the washroom without you, because you are right at my heels.  Then I close the door in your face and you scream bloody murder while beating on the door and honestly, all I can think is this is gonna get so much worse once she learns how to use the doorknob. Sometimes I just bring you in with me and put you in the bathtub, where you eat the loofah or chew on your favourite thing, Daddy’s tube of toothpaste.  It’s better than constantly wrestling the toilet brush away from you or rerolling up the toilet paper after you unravel it with a glee that I thought was only reserved for lolcats.

You like the bathtub a lot better when there’s water in it, though.

You see, you’ve also learned how to splash, which is, as we all know, pretty awesome.  You splosh, splash, splish and make a mess and have a grand old time, all while your poor Mommy or Daddy try to wash your hair without getting suds in your eyes from all the wiggling you’re doing.

Lately you are really trying to talk.  I can tell when you’re babbling — mamamama — and when you’re genuinely trying to call for me — mmmuh MUH — and it’s really awesome that you’re exploring language.  We often ask you to say “Dada” to which you grin slyly and reply “Mmmuh MUH!”  Keep it up, baby girl.  It’s hilarious.

Along with this learning to speak thing, you’re also clearly learning to listen.  Your favourite word right now is “nice”.  It’s what we say when you touch the dogs gently, and you smile widely, your dimple deepens, and you squeal with delight because you are being “nice to puppies”.  You often flail your arms in excitement, which scares the dog away and somewhat defeats the purpose, but you are also learning how to be quick, and you will try to snatch at a retreating paw.

Your least favourite word is “no”.  Oh.  My.  God.  You hate being told no.  We’re only using it when we need to — NO, you cannot pull the wires.  NO, you cannot open the gate to the kitchen — but you react as if this is the most infuriating thing you have ever heard, the most irrational and stupid, and then you start with the wailing and screaming and your face goes totally red as you glare with dark, anger-filled eyes at whichever one of us has dared to tell you no.  Maia, I must admit, I have a hard time not laughing when you do this.  Seriously?  You want to throw a temper tantrum at me because I won’t let you give yourself electric shock?  Well, go right ahead then.

Fortunately, you haven’t learned how to say “no” yet (I dread the day you do) but, you do mimic our fake coughing.  This is something your daddy found out when he was making funny noises at you and you started to repeat them back, and it’s completely hilarious.  You are so proud of yourself as you make these fake little hacking and coughing noises from the back of your throat, and we try to keep up with you, but we end up laughing too.  Oh, speaking of, you’re learning to fake laugh.  That’s also hilarious.

The one thing about this month that has sucked is your sleeping “pattern”.  I use the word “pattern” because while you do have a fairly regular bedtime and wake-up time, the time in between them is completely erratic.  Will you wake up three times or five?  Will you sleep in your crib or will one of us have to take you into the nursery to snuggle?  And in line with this, your nap schedule is fairly irregular too.  It seems like whenever I’m at work, you nap for two hours around noon, but when I’m home you might sleep for an hour anytime between 10 and 3, and then you’re done for the day.  Maia, I don’t know if you know this, but according to the book I received from the author herself (Ann Douglas, you rock), only 11% of babies your age take only one nap per day.  And that’s fine, if you want to continue being extraordinary, but for the love of all that is holy, that nap needs to be longer than one hour or you are pretty much a disaster by the end of the day.

Really, though, crappy sleep isn’t too much of an issue when you are so damned charming and loving the rest of the time.  Lately, you really enjoy being read to, and you will sit with me while I read the same book to you three times, then carry it over to your Daddy, hold it out to him, and squeal with delight as he reads to you again.  It’s awesome.  I mean, it makes me realize that we probably need to get you a few more books, but still, it’s totally awesome.

Not that I’m dropping any hints as to what you might be getting for your first Christmas or whatever.  You are just going to have to wait and see!

All our love,
Mama & Dada

Today you turn nine months old.  Today is also a Friday the 13th, just like you were born on, and I have to admit that this makes me smile.  Oh sure, I’ve heard a few times that it’s “too bad” you didn’t hold off your arrival for a day so you could be a Valentine’s Day baby and share a birthday with your Grandma, but I’m pretty sure that being born on a Friday the 13th is going to give you way more street cred when you hit your goth phase.  Never forget that, baby girl, you totally owe me.

Like I do every time I sit down to write you this letter, I check out the pictures I’ve taken of you over the past month so I can review in my mind what we’ve done together and how much you’ve grown.  Unlike most months, however, I am shocked at how much your presence has changed and matured; between October 13th and November 13th, you seem to have become a completely different baby.  In fact, sometimes I stop thinking of you as my baby, and I think of you as my kid and yes, those are distinctly separate entities.  A baby is reliant on other people for everything.  A kid has some autonomy, and if there’s one thing you like demonstrating to us, it’s your need to have some autonomy.

See, here’s a picture I took of you on October 14th. And whatever, don’t be hatin’ on your hair, this picture has SERIOUS high school yearbook potential.  Don’t you look so cute? So sweet? so YOUNG?

In comparison, here you are at the park the other day:

See what I mean?  You’re totally bigger now.  And I still can’t do your hair properly, but you’ll notice that you’ve now graduated to adult sized clips.

This month has been a great one for all of us.  We are in a rhythm now, the three of us, working in tandem with one another.  You have a certain time when you wake up (around 7:22) except for once or twice a week when you decide that waking up at 6:30 would be way, way cooler.  And then Mama or Daddy, whichever one of us is getting up with you that day, walk around like zombies while you bounce around the house and squeal.  You go to bed around 7:30pm, after we read your favourite book (which is borrowed from the library… we really must buy you a copy instead).  You wake up two or three times a night still, but that’s alright, because you just want to eat.  Sometimes you want to eat and then snuggle and while that’s great in theory, when your very tired Mama wants to sleep, it kinda stinks.  Because, you see, while I am totally willing to put you in bed with us so we can snuggle and sleep together, you seem to think the bed is a place to romp around regardless of the hour, and then when I put you in your crib you act like this is THE GREATEST INDIGNITY babykind has ever known.  Tough luck, honeybuns.  Trust me, all three of us need our sleep.

You can totally walk, but for some reason you seem to be convinced that walking unsupported is not worth your time and that you would much rather hold onto the table, or me, and walk.  However, sometimes you will trot back and forth between Daddy and I four or five times in a row, giggling and smiling.  Or I’ll catch you sitting on the floor before pulling your legs into a squatting position, then you will stand straight up without supporting yourself on anything and take a few steps over to wherever you want to be.  I have to admit, though, that if I could get carried everywhere, I might be tempted to pretend I could not walk.

You like to do this thing we call “drama hand”.  You hold one arm out in front of you, palm upwards, your fingers outstretched, then clench and release your hand repeatedly.  Usually, you have a very earnest look on your face.  We can just imagine you being on stage, delivering some dramatic line or another in a Shakespeare play, and posing like this.  It’s completely hilarious and I have yet to capture it on film, because every time you hear my camera turn on you immediately have to turn and start posing.  Or try to grab it.

Hey mom, whatcha got?!

Your grandma came up from Florida this month and you pretty much love her.  You two got along like peas in a pod, except for, apparently, when she was babysitting, and you wanted to walk around.  So you grabbed her hands and started walking, only she didn’t come along, at which point you started screaming and shrieking your little head off (a sound Daddy and I are very familiar with).  When recounting this to me the next day, she laughed and laughed, saying how much you reminded her of Daddy when he was a baby.  I said you remind me of Daddy as an adult.  She agreed.

Actually, you remind everyone of people that aren’t me.  You look like Daddy.  Your uncle Sean.  Your grandma.  Your great-uncle.  Your auntie Katie.  You do not look like me.

Whatever, though, we’re totally gorgeous together.  Maia, I’ve never been a terribly confident person, but when it comes to parenting you, I know we’re doing it right.  You are so beautiful, intelligent, and altogether vibrant that Daddy and I often look at one another over your head and smile, unable to articulate how much we love you and how happy you make us.  Life right now is amazing and better than I ever could have imagined it being.  Who knew that being a mom is wicked awesome?

We love you, baby girl.  Always and forever.

Love,
Mama & Daddy

Nothing makes one so aware of the passage of time as becoming a parent.  As usual, I’ve had a hard time accepting that you’re growing up, and even though I’m typing this at 11pm on the 12th, I still call you my 7 month old.  I can’t believe we’ve been together for so long, and at the same time that I am so proud of you growing up healthy, smart, and strong, I stare at my face in the mirror and wonder where time has gone, how I’ve ended up this close to being 27 — so close to 30.  30? That’s how old your Babcha is in my mind, eternally.

As you might be able to tell from that paragraph, this has been a mind-blowing month, one that has left me feeling alternately scatter-brained and ultra-focused.  The month began in a devastating fashion: you went on a nursing strike.

One thing this showed me, however, is that you are a stunningly independent child (also, that you’re very stubborn).  I think that independence is at the root of why you decided to reject nursing, and then return just as suddenly: you felt like exercising your free will.  And to that I say YOU GO, GIRL (that is, now that I have a breast pump).  We’ve recovered from this just fine, mostly, except now we face the challenge of you biting me nearly every time you delatch.  I still yell “NO!” or “OUCH!” or the very Canadian “EH?!” (I wish I were joking) when you do, but instead of crying as if you’re the one that got bitten, like you used to, you now let out a little chuckle and stare up at me innocently.  Pro tip: if you want me to think you did it unintentionally, DON’T LAUGH AFTERWARD.  I’m totally on to your game.

The pain of these bites is from your two little teeth, right in the center of your bottom gum, which have finally begun showing enough that people notice them. This is a source of constant pride for me, although you’ve now gone nearly a month and a half without any other teeth coming in.  I’m kind of wondering if they’ll ever show up.  You’ve been drooling like a damned fountain for a few weeks now, so I’m expecting something relatively soon.  I figure if I keep thinking you’re teething, eventually I’ll be right.

Oh Maia, YOUR HAIR.  I love it.  There are strands that now reach to the back of your shoulderblades.  I’m so impressed with it.  Everyone insists that it’s growing in blonde in the back, but I know better; it’s just that you have less at the back, and so it looks lighter.  The fact is, if you had dirty blonde hair, you’d end up looking VAGUELY like me, and we all know that can’t happen. We have discovered that you and I have two things in common: we both have big feet and big butts.  Congratulations my dear, you’ve got the biggest and best baby badonkadonk on the block.

Can we talk about how huge you look?  You are thisclose to outgrowing your infant car seat.  It’s good up to 30 inches and you’re hovering around 27.5.  If we count your crazy pigtails, you’re probably at 30.  This is the first month we’ve put your hair up like that and I must say, I think it’s very fetching.  Little wisps of bangs escape to brush your forehead and the nape of your neck, and I just want to gobble you up.  Maia, NO ONE can pass you by when you have pigtails without remarking upon it.  It’s clinically impossible.

Physically, you’re still not quite walking, although you have taken a few steps on your own.  You get so excited about the fact that you’re learning how to balance yourself this way that you invariably end up flapping your arms around and falling over, which infuriates you.  So I have to pick you up and soothe you, and then when I try to set you down you’re apt to start babbling “Mamamama” in between whining, until you’re over being butt-hurt about losing your balance.

You have decided that solid food is the most amazing thing ever.  This means that on Sunday, at your first Thanksgiving, you ate turkey, cranberry sauce, scalloped potatoes, green bean casserole, and some squash.  Also, I let you have a taste of key lime pie, apple pie, and pumpkin pie.  Your favourite food is, by far, butternut squash.  I am forever roasting it up for you to nibble on.  I also love squash, so I’m delighted that you have good taste.  You seem to like everything that I make and let you try, except for the Moroccan-spiced lentils and brown rice which you promptly spat out and started screaming at me for feeding you.  But then later, when they were cold and we tried again, you liked them, so who knows.  You’re just a little gourmande.

You still haven’t quite gotten the hang of drinking from a cup.  You love when I hold your sippy cup up so you can drink from it, but the second you have to hold it up yourself, you get pissed and bang it against the floor until the top flies off.  Have I mentioned that the dogs really love when I give you a sippy cup?  I decided to outsmart you, and got you a cup with a straw instead, but that just made you even angrier.  So our interim solution, until you set your mind on drinking on your own, is for me to hold an “adult” glass to your lips.  You kind of chew on the rim of the cup, causing the liquid inside to slosh all over your face and in your mouth, then smack your lips together and lean forward for more.  You love sharing orange juice with us in the morning.

You’ve had your first real injury, in the dressing room of a department store, when you put your hand in a baseboard heating unit that was then turned on.  Believe me, I feel like the WORST parent in the history of ever about this, and I only hope it doesn’t scar too badly.  You’ve definitely coped with it far better than I, and it’s healing beautifully.  When we took you to the doctor to have your burns checked out and see if we needed any ointment for them, she said I could just keep applying breastmilk to the burns because they looked great.  You know, as great as hideous burns on a little baby hand can look.  I know that someday you’ll be like “MOM THAT IS SO GROSS THAT YOU PUT BREASTMILK ON MY HANDS” but hey, whatever works.

Your favourite thing to do right now is watch this video of “I Gotta Feeling”.  I don’t think it’s possible for me to put into words how much your father and I hated that song, until one day he for some unknown reason (fate?) clicked on a link to the above video, with you in his lap, and you sat there absolutely mesmerized for the entirety of it… then started whining and complaining when it ended.  Want to know how many times a day that video is played in our household?  Let’s just say that the video has 1.4million views at the moment, and I think we’re responsible for the .4.

I returned to work, leaving you and Daddy together.  The first few days were rough, but when I came home one night to see you two like this… well, I knew everything would be okay:

Do you see the little smile he’s trying to hide?

Yeah, we kinda like having you around, papaya.

All our love,
Mama & Daddy.

Well, the good news is this: you’re not yet walking on your own.  The bad news is this: if I analyze your movements long enough, I become convinced that you actually are.

That video is not long enough to show what you did afterward — one of your favourite new activities, banging on things.  You are never happier than when you have a wooden or hard plastic toy in hand and are smashing it against something else solid, raising a racket.  Oh, wait, I lie: you’re even happier if you are also giving off your patented Maia Was A Velociraptor In A Former Life screech.  At these times, your Daddy and I just look at each other and shrug, because really?  You are just so damned happy.  Interrupting would result only in your anger, and you are REALLY good, like almost admirably amazing, at throwing hissy fits that last approximately, oh… forever.

This month, we moved your crib into the bedroom (because your Daddy wanted the pack & play in the living room… I don’t know, ask him why), which means you are at eye-level with me.  For a few mornings, we had your favourite wooden toy in the crib so you could amuse yourself with it in the morning, but after you woke me up banging it against the side of the crib, that toy found a new home in the living room.  On the floor.  Where I now step on it at least once a day.  Oh, the joys!

In your crib, you have a little stuffed bear.  You LOVE to snuggle with it!  Every time you wake up to nurse and I pull you into bed, you are holding the bear in your right hand (because you self-soothe on your left “fingees”), but if I nurse you on the left so your right arm is trapped, you’ll switch the bear to your free hand.  Then you start flailing him all over the place, rubbing him across your face and mine, over my chest, against your side.  Sometimes you’ll delatch and push one of the bear’s paws into your mouth for a moment before returning to me.  It always makes me smile.

What makes me smile less, though, is that recently you seem to be having a lot of trouble returning to sleep once you’re up.  I’m not sure if this is teething, or just physical & mental development.  You’ll fall asleep in my arms, and wake up when I put you in the crib, at which point you roll over, push yourself into a sitting position, and suddenly stand up against the side, whining and moaning with your head hanging down sleepily.  I can tell you’re just as frustrated as I am, so that does make me have a little bit of sympathy, but at the same time… it’s so frustrating!  Last night we spent over an hour playing this game with one another.

But during the days, oh my baby girl, we have so much fun.  Once you’re in bed, I find myself wishing you were awake to play with, and before I fall asleep every night I think about all the fun things we’ll do tomorrow.  This month, we discovered something that makes you INCREDIBLY happy:

Ohh yes.  Swinging makes you a happy, giggling, smiling, ecstatic little ball of love. This picture is my desktop and let me tell you, Maia, you love it as much as I do.  If you spot it, even from across the room, you make this little delighted noise, so I bring you closer… and you start talking to the picture. SO CUTE.  If I point at my screen and exclaim, “That’s Maia!” you laugh and laugh.

Or, you know, maybe you just really like looking at yourself.

Another thing that makes you laugh is when we fake bite you.  This is especially effective when combined with “scaring” or surprising you; I look away from you as though I’m not paying attention, then suddenly growl and snap at you, and you LAUGH!  Daddy says you’re going to like horror movies.  I tell you right now, Maia, I do NOT like them, not at all, so if you want to watch them, it’s going to have to be with some not-Mama person (I suddenly feel as if I have presented you with the perfect excuse to get out of the house in the future).

Earlier this month,we realized you had never met another baby.  And, yes, we felt horrible about this.  Fortunately, your friend Lily came over and you two hung out while the parents chatted.  We all went down to the waterfront and enjoyed the Ribfest, which was REALLY tasty.  You and Lily?  Yeah, you ate carrots.  Maybe next year you’ll get some yummy ribs!

We visited family and you went in a swimming pool for the first time.  It was kind of a cool day, so you didn’t stay in for too long, but you seemed to enjoy it well enough.  I have the feeling that soon enough, you’ll be begging to spend summers with these relatives because Mommy, they have a pool, pleeeeease I wanna go swimming! and to be honest, I REALLY enjoy swimming and am totally pissed off that I only got to go once, so I’ll probably cave in.  I won’t even complain (much) about my poor post-pregnancy, untoned, frighteningly floppy body.

Since you move around so much these days and you love water so much (channeling your Aunt Katie), you take big girl baths now.

See that face? You’ve developed a habit of puckering your lips, wrinkling your nose, and huffing like a bull, and this is a mild version of it.  Usually you’re so into it that your puckered lips are white, your brow furrowed, and your eyes dark little slits.  It’s truly hilarious, and I’ve tried to video tape it, but so far I’m not having any luck with that.  I’m not too worried, though, since it seems like a habit you’re not keen to give up anytime soon.

In case it hasn’t come through in this letter, you are currently amazing.  You amuse us, inspire us, and sometimes make us pull out our hair (err… yes, I know your Daddy doesn’t have hair, don’t correct me!), but there isn’t a single day — a single hour — that goes by without us thinking about how stunningly beautiful you are, inside and out.  You enrich our lives.  We have so much fun with you around, and watching you grow up is amazing.  I want to keep you at this age, but at the same time, I can’t wait to see how you change and develop every single day.

We love you, you little gangsta.

Love,
Mama & Daddy

This will go down in history as the month you grew too quickly.  Oh yes.  You see, Mommy just went back to read her Month Five letter to you, where she says such quaint things as “you’ve finally learned how to roll from belly to back” and “you are learning to crawl“.  Haha.  I know, right?  You’re totally thinking GOSH MOM, THAT’S OLD NEWS, GET WITH THE PROGRAM.

You crawl like a speed demon all over the house, and we’ve had to put up gates or build mini-walls of laundry baskets to keep you in a safe, baby-proofed space.  For a few days we didn’t even have to do that, but then you discovered you could go around the corner of the couch and that was it, your life changed forever.  When Daddy and I blocked that area with a table and a rolling laundry cart, well, you just tugged on that cart and made it roll out of your way.  While we appreciate (and are somewhat awed by) your intelligence and determination, it’s actually quite frightening.

A day before you really got the hang of the crawling thing, you mastered sitting.  Literally, Maia, you had no interest in sitting, and then one day you were playing on the floor near the kitchen while I got a drink, then I looked over and there you were, SITTING STRAIGHT UP, all like “What up, homegirl?”

(you’re surprised to see me here, like “oh shit, she caught me!”)

Of course, all this movement comes with a price (besides my sanity): you fell down this month.  You fell down A LOT this month.  You’d sit up, beam at me, and in your excitement… THUNK!  You’d topple right over, bonking your head on the carpet with this horrible, hollow, melon-esque sound.  You tried to climb everything in the house and often ended up whacking your head against them.  Your grandmas have a picture of you with all of your war wounds labelled that I will not share with the world, but it’s an accurate representation of how often, and how fast, you hurt yourself as you learned to move.  Sometimes you’d wait a second before crying, as if in total shock, but most of the time you’d just start wailing.  Mommy wailed with you a few times.

Yet you recovered more quickly than I did, and you have kept your sunny disposition this month.

Uh.

Actually, funny story, Maia: you’ve developed quite a personality, AND IT IS EXACTLY LIKE YOUR FATHER’S.  So help me God, I don’t know how I’m going to survive the next eighteen years, but I think it might involve a lot of booze, hoarded chocolate, and expensive day-long trips to the spa, because your father used to be the most stubborn person I knew, but now you’ve taken that crown.  You are also … mercurial.  You will snuggle into me like I am the most precious person in the world, but then when I lean over to set you down you start to grunt, and the second your butt touches the ground you start the wailing and the teeth gnashing and the OHMIGOD MOMMY CATS SLEEPING WITH DOGS.  This is when your father looks at me and says, “You know, maybe you shouldn’t kick her in the ribs, it seems to upset her,” but I’m pretty sure that even if I did, even if I were somehow an evil enough person to kick you in the ribs, it still would not make you cry as much as me setting you down when you want to snuggle does.

(And for the record, I tend to pick you back up, cause I like to snuggle you too.  Don’t tell your grandpa.)

Very often this month, I’ve sat on the couch with a notebook or novel in hand as you roamed around on the floor.  You really love your rattles and will often sit smashing them on the ground, then throw them a few feet away before chasing them down just to do it again.  One time, I had a water bottle set next to the couch, and you smacked that bitch over before proceeding to chase it around the living room for literally fifteen minutes, squealing with glee every time it rolled away from under your hands.  Do you know what I could have done with that fifteen minutes?  I could have written a blog post, talked to your daddy, painted my finger nails, applied for a job, read a chapter of my book, played with the chihuahuas, made a sandwich… but no, I watched you.  Because you were so vibrant in that time, so unbelievably charming and intrepid, and I both treasured and coveted your sense of wonder.

However, now when I sit on the couch, you do this:

You stand.  Against the couch.  You stare at me, and talk to me, and try to grab my book or eat my knee.  Sometimes you even let go with one hand and flail your arm around as if you’re intentionally trying to give me a heart attack, and no word of a lie, you even let go with BOTH HANDS once.  Then you laid your hands back on the couch and scooted over a few steps to slobber on my leg.

Last night, you were trying to stand while holding your stuffed turtle toy. You were having some difficulty grabbing on to the couch, so you stuck one of his fins in your mouth long enough to stand.  And let me tell you, Maia, I was proud of you, but you were even prouder of yourself, because you looked up at me and your face just LIT UP as you smiled so big that you released the turtle, who promptly fell to the floor.

You watched him fall as if it were happening in slow motion, then bent down to pick him up.  You wobbled back and forth, one hand gripping the couch, the other extended, inching towards the turtle…

… and then the Earth imploded.

Or at least, that’s how you acted.  OH, THE HUMANITY!  OH, THE HORROR!  What an utter indignity against your person, that Mommy witnessed your ass plopping to the floor when you were trying to pick something up!  This wasn’t your hurt cry or your “give me attention” cry, this was a pure, gut-deep wail of embarrassment the likes of which I had never heard before but imagine your father must have also given when he was your age.  Because, again, you are his clone (with a vagina) (also no ding-a-ling).

As if sitting and standing weren’t enough, you’ve also taken to reaching for the food on our plates (and getting very pissed when we won’t let you have it, as you evidenced last night when I wouldn’t share my fried okra with you — I love you Maia, but NO ONE gets my fried okra), so we’ve begun exploring solids with you.  You’ve had mixed reactions to these:

Maia, if next month goes at the same pace last month did, I fully expect you to be trying out for the next season of “So You Think You Can Dance” (which is our favourite show to watch together now that “Canada’s Next Top Model” is finished and we were both pissed over who lost).  I suggest that you specialize in Broadway because, judging by the hysterics you’re so keen to share with us, you’re just MADE for drama.

The good thing about drama, though, is that it can be deeply loving and kind, just like you.  You raise your arms for us to pick you up and hug us when we do, one arm around our shoulder and the other resting on our chest.  You laugh and laugh when we kiss you or try to teach you how to kiss us.  At bedtime, we all snuggle into bed, lie on our backs, and read nursery rhymes, and you stare up at the book as we point out the words to you or glance back and forth between us as we sing Row, Row, Row Your Boat.  When the book is done, you invariably roll over towards your Daddy and stroke his face as if amazed at the stubble on his cheeks and the roughness of his goatee.  And you smile, smile, smile.

Thanks for letting us be supporting actors in your drama, Maia.  We couldn’t be happier to watch you on centre stage.

Love,
Mommy & Daddy