Today you turned eight months old. You are finally making yourself heard within our family. You are saying many things, important things that make you very enthusiastic. Daddy is pretty sure he hears you crying “Mama” in the middle of the night. We’ve got to work on your d’s, kid.
You are sitting up, which makes it far easier to play with your toys. Almost as soon as you mastered the sitting up, you grew bored with it, and now you tip yourself over and roll onto your stomach so that you can work on crawling. You are so close. I walked into the room this morning after a jog, and you spun yourself 180 degrees and then began your beached-whale struggle to get to me. Sometimes the whole front half of your body is lifted. Sometimes you push back onto your knees. But these things never happen in conjunction.
You continue to delight in every food we offer you, though it’s increasingly looking as though I will be pureeing your meals for the next 18 years. Where are your teeth? You’re so seldom unhappy that I tend to always ascribe your bad moods to teething. I have been doing this for months now. And it looks like you’re really getting the benefit of the doubt on all of this because you are not teething. There are no teeth!
You have become so eager to connect with us. You can barely contain your glee when I sing to you, particularly “The Wheels on the Bus” and the alphabet song. You are always reaching out to grab my cheek or my eyelid (ouch!) or my hair. I know that babies explore the world with their hands, but I also think this is your attempt to interact. You are a little person.
We were a family of three for a long time, and I didn’t give a lot of thought to how we would adapt to you beyond worrying about whether Eleanor would feel forgotten. I did not know how much complexity you would add, and I mean that in the best possible way. I love watching you look at Eleanor and knowing that you two will share a relationship independent of your dad and I. I like imagining that your dad might have a comrade in the house, someone to stand befuddled with him as words spiral from Eleanor and I. Your sister is a lot like me. I think that I will have to work harder to understand you and to know how to be a good mom to you. I’m looking forward to that.