Because something about Maia walking around independently, not needing to be helped, my little daughter who criss-crosses the room and gets underfoot and wanders anywhere that she wants to, makes her seem so much less like a baby.

And she seems like my kid.

Slow down, my love.

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.

This afternoon, we went out to a charity fundraiser at a bar that my brother-in-law and his girlfriend, my bff (Sommer) work at.  I used to work there as well.  One of the daytime regulars, a woman named Kay that I was never particularly close to as she’s rather stand-offish and kind of bitchy, came over to say hello and meet Maia.

Maia was holding a spear of broccoli she’d been nibbling, which Kay took away from her for no good reason other than that she wanted to know what the baby had in her hand — despite Sommer and I both protesting.  This should have set off alarm bells in my head, but we were sitting in a kind of loud spot and I didn’t think much of it.

Then Kay took Maia out of my arms.  I’m not one of those parents who freaks out about other people holding my baby, so despite the fact that I wasn’t really happy about it, I didn’t say anything.  Kay was so happy: “Oh, I’ve watched you grow up on Facebook! You’re my first Facebook baby!” (My profile is private, my picture albums are friends only, and we’re not friends, so … clearly I’m missing something here) and I took the opportunity gobble down some nachos while my hands were free.

I turned around and KAY WAS GONE.  WITH MY BABY.  Wandering around the bar, introducing Maia to her friends.  I knew the people she spoke with, so again, despite my unease, I didn’t go after her.  Then Kay went onto the patio with Maia — it had been raining off and on all day, the air was cool, and Maia wasn’t wearing socks, a hat, or a jacket.  But I could see them, and I really did not want to come across as overbearing, so I just watched them, feeling anxious.  I got up once and made my way halfway across the bar to them, but went back to our table.

Five minutes later, Kay came back and Maia dove into my arms.

I am so bothered by this.  Even though I didn’t want her to, and wasn’t comfortable with it at all, I let that woman hold and wander off with my baby.  Why would I do that?  It doesn’t make any damned sense.  The nearest reason I can come up with is that I couldn’t figure out a real reason why Kay shouldn’t hold Maia, or wander around with her — other than it seems socially inappropriate.  I mean, doesn’t it?  I wouldn’t take the baby of someone I hadn’t spoken with in over two years and prance around a bar chatting with friends, showing off my casual acquaintance’s kid.  I genuinely feel like she committed a total faux pas and I allowed it.  But then I think the fault also lies with me; I should have said something.  I should have gone after them.  It would have been completely reasonable to say “I’d like to hold her” or “Please stay here with her” or a hundred other things.

I need to figure out what to say, and never let that happen again.

Thankfully, Chris and I are alternating who wakes up with her every morning, and while it seems that she’s happier for longer with me (so he gets to sleep in for two hours, and I’m lucky if I get forty-five minutes), I’m grateful for it.

I handed in numerous applications up at the local mall recently, and had two interviews on Wednesday.  I’m a little bummed out that I haven’t heard anything back from either of them yet, as they both went really well, both ended with me and the manager shaking hands with her saying “I’m so glad we spoke, and I’ll be in touch soon,”, and one interview even finished with the manager saying “You’re going to be a great addition to our team”.  I’ll call and follow up if I don’t hear from them by the end of the business day.

As excited as I am by the thought of returning to the workforce and earning some money, which will relieve so much marriage-related guilt, all I’m doing is replacing it with mommy guilt.  Maia’s still cruising along holding on to furniture, standing on her own for ten or fifteen seconds at a time, and she keeps trying to take steps on her own but falling forward.  I don’t want to miss the first time she doesn’t fall, but I know there’s a chance I will.  I know that I might be forfeiting “Mama” becoming her official first word by leaving her with Daddy while I’m at work.    I try not to let it bother me too much — after all, it’s not as if she’ll forget how to walk, or never call me Mama — but still, there’s a little bit of sadness and jealousy in my heart.

Still, I know I’ll be coming home to her and Chris, and I know they’ll be bonding more with one another.  That’s a good thing.  And in all reality, I need to get out of the house and feel like a more productive member of society.

Plus, by getting a job, I’m earning hours to make me eligible for maternity leave, which I plan on taking IN SEVERAL YEARS FROM NOW, MOM.

(Side note: you have no idea how many people suggested I was pregnant when Maia went on strike.  You also have no idea how impossible that is.)

Several years.  Because right now?  I’m too busy taking care of this little pigtail monster.

Why is she eating his foot?  I have no idea.  But it’s something she loves to do.

However… she’s not really sure it’s all that tasty.

I know I sure as hell wouldn’t want to eat someone’s foot.  Unless, of course, it’s hers… yum!

(To read about what we’re really feeding Maia, check out my newest review: Gerber 8 Grain Cereal & Yogurt!)

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

It’s ridiculous how cute she can be.  When she wakes up from a nap, whoever goes to bring her out becomes her security blanket.  She clings to that person, and seeing the other parent becomes an occasion for shyness.  So Chris will be holding her, bring her out to see me, and she’ll keep her head tilted way down, looking up at me through her lashes until I say, “Hi, Maia!”  Then she turns her head and buries it into his chest to hide her smile, half turning to look back at me, then nuzzling against him again.  So I keep speaking to her, and finally she leans away from his chest, holding her arms out for me.  Amazing.

She did the same thing for our CPR instructor, staring at him while he taught us and then totally burying her face against me, with a dimpled smile, when he looked at her.  But then she kept returning her attention to him.

She’s taken to making a gurgling, purring sound, too. When she’s happy and not talking, she starts to purr, gazing at us expectantly.  Have you ever heard a grown man try to purr at his daughter?  AWESOME.  Of course, I’m great at purring, so Maia and I will sit there and “converse” with one another like kitty cats.  It’s probably one of the coolest things ever, and somewhere, my 16 year old self is like GROWN UP TATIANA, YOU ARE EMBARRASSING ME.

She laughs a lot, over things that make no sense to me.  Chris said earlier, as he stood in front of our newly-installed air conditioner (a whole other story!), “it’s cold, BRRRRR!”  Maia, sitting on the bed with me, started laughing and laughing.  So he said “BRRRRR!” again and she laughed again.  It’s just silly, and awesome, that such a thing amuses her so much.

Sometimes I lie on my back and pull her onto my chest, and she snuggles into my neck, just relaxing and cuddling with me.  It’s so precious, and so right, that I find myself wondering how I ever though I was “living” when she wasn’t a part of my world.  I know that’s kinda stupid.  I just can’t believe how  fulfilled and happy I am to have her with us.

Then there’s stuff like this:

MAIA YOU ARE KILLING ME.  The red-rimmed eyes, because you just got done crying over the fact that you ate all of your watermelon.  The little fingers used to soothe yourself.  The upside down bear.  I mean really, snuggling with a stuffed animal? Aren’t you too young to do something that freakin’ cute?!

I dunno.  I mean, she’s always been amazing, but right now she’s almost unbearably wonderful.  Sure, there are the temper tantrums over not being allowed to eat an entire watermelon, and the separation anxiety that results in us being attached to one another for almost all of her waking hours (I gave her the watermelon to distract her from me…) but whatever, once she’s asleep I miss her, I long to hold her close and bury my face in her sweaty little curls (her head gets so hot when she’s tired) and kiss her big chubby cheeks.

Honestly, I think I was giggling just as much as she was.  Her delight is contagious!

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