This is my twelfth letter to you, as we are coming to the end of your first year. You have come into yourself in so many ways, for a baby anyway, and your personality is just precious to me. I love your crazy, shrieking laugh. I love your clunky movements with your big hands, and your face when you concentrate, mouth slightly open.
I am happy that you’re growing up — I’m especially happy to see you feeding yourself, and playing with Elodie, and finding ways to explore and entertain yourself. But I am starting to feel that twinge of sadness and fear about you growing older — that your babyhood is slipping away from me at a speed entirely out of my control, and that I haven’t savored it enough while it’s lasted. I think that to myself, and then, then — you curl up with your bottle, or you get that sleepy heaviness that comes on when babies think they can skip their morning nap and just keep going through lunch. And then I can savor it, and look forward to the fun details about what comes next. The walking! (you’re really almost there now, taking a couple of steps on your own here and there, without really doing it just yet) The waving! (you’re occasionally waving bye to me in the mornings) The sippy cup drinking! (you’re doing great with the moderated flow ones, but the free-flow sippy cups leave you a soaked mess)
You’re Elodie’s best friend, she tells us so, and you love her so much. You ‘get’ her and she ‘gets’ you. She can make you laugh in ways that I can’t understand, from taps on your belly or games of peek-a-boo. I can’t wait to see you grow up together.
Next week, you will actually turn one year old. I just need to keep reminding myself. And, I need to bake you a cake. And, I need to get in a few more of those sleepy snuggles in.