Dear Maia,

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