Saturday, April 6, 2013

eight months

Dear Linnea,


eight months

Every time I take a moment to think about where you are now, I find myself shaking my head and asking myself, "what the what?"

After many a frustrated start, you are ambling along the floor with much galumphing. You aren't quite able to do the cross-crawl yet, but can do the worm across the living room. Except when you get excited. Then you pull yourself up to a downward dog, inch forward, and thump to your belly with a shriek.

floor time

You keep trying to get into the kitchen, which is off-limits at this point. I know you know this because when you amble to the boundary of where the carpet of the living room meets the linoleum of the kitchen, you stop suddenly, turn, and look at me. I sternly tell you "no." You respond by flashing your Lucky charms grin. I tell you no again. You used to then inch your way over the boundary while continually checking my face until I picked you up and moved you back to your play area. Now you instead turn around yourself, and pull over a wastebasket.

Just a few days ago, you started doing this:

supported standing
(I love your little cloth-diapered bubble butt.)

You say "da da" and "ba ba" frequently now. Once, your dad tried to get you to say "ma ma" and you responded with a raspberry. You taught yourself how to drink out of a cup with a straw, and now you wave your arms and pant excitedly whenever you see your sippy cup.

You are also eating a ton. You've liked everything we've given you so far. The word at daycare is that whenever any other kid gets food, you want food too. I've so far been making almost all of your food, which is something that I swore only crazy obsessive parents did. And yet here I am, steaming carrots and pureeing them in the food processor, and getting excited that spring is here and that means FRESH PEAS.

One morning, when we were all in bed, you crawled into my armpit and fell asleep, and for the first time since you were a newborn, we all took a morning nap together as a family.

However, this expression makes me think that we may be in for some trouble soon enough.

eight months

When do we decide when "getting through this" turns into "gotten through it"? When you're one? Five? Eighteen? Who can tell? All I know is that every morning I can't wait to see this face.


1 comment:

tomiko nguyen-trung said...

Linnea is absolutely adorable. Can't believe she's already 8-months old!