Eleven Months
I feel like a sailor preparing for a storm on the high seas every time I set you on the floor- "Batten down the hatches!" Over Thanksgiving weekend it seems your mobility exploded and you began not only to stand and pull up on everything, but to cruise from object to object around the house. Your coordination has also developed nicely and you have become a professional crawler. This means that when I leave you playing in one room and sneak away to do some mundane household chore, you've decided it's easiest to simply follow me. I can trace the path of your travels through the house by the trail of destruction you leave behind. Scattered toys, odd socks, wooden bowls, tennis balls strewn across the living room and hallway in your wake.
You have recently decided that "No," must mean,"Can you do that again? I didn't see it the first time." The dog's bowls, and more recently the pantry, hold infinite wonder for you and you've spent hours trying to figure out how to circumnavigate my watchful gaze and get yourself a handful of kibble or cheerios before I swoop in and relocate you to the other end of the house. You also think standing in the bath is a way cool idea, despite the fact that cracking your head open is a likely outcome, and I spend entire bath times plopping you back down on your bottom while you giggle breathlessly.
Those two large, gleaming white teeth in your upper gum that have been causing us so much anguish at night have dropped down and started to make themselves useful. I began to give you finger foods at the beginning of December and you've discovered what all children have known since the dawn of time. Cheerios are their own food group for a very good reason. And since then, you don't want to ingest anything that isn't shaped like a cheerio. This is going to turn out to be something of a problem unless you'd like to be cop. You've also realized that if you don't like something that I deposit in your mouth, you can simply spit it out. I wish it had taken you a little longer to catch onto that one. I have learned, however, that you really like fish. Seriously. Fish. Pan fried with a little Old Bay and olive oil. What kind of kid are you?
You would think all this movement would be exhausting, but I'm afraid I may be the only one who feels that way. You've begun to indicate that your morning nap may no longer be necessary and occasionally pass entire nap times standing in your crib, holding onto the rails and surveying your room. Your nighttime wakings became a little less frequent right up until the last two weeks, when you began to cut two or three more of those little pearly whites. Now we're back to fussing and restless tossing every hour or two. When I look old and haggard by 35, I'll know exactly who to blame.
Just last week the entire household came down with a disastrously disabling flu. You awoke at 5 am and threw up your morning feeding all over the crib. You continued to vomit and dry heave off and on for the next six to eight hours, but you never cried once. Just clung to me, your feverish head burrowing into my chest, for hours and hours. It was nearly a week before you seemed back to your old self, mischievously disassembling the humidifier while I showered or attempting to crawl off your changing table to reach a discarded tube of toothpaste. And as hellish as a puking, pooping, sick baby can be, I had a few seconds where I missed those few days. When the laundry and the dishes and the errands could wait and the only thing that was important was to hold you.
Posted by Kaz at December 19, 2006 11:09 AM