Dear Maia,

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