At least once or twice a day now your Daddy or I look at you and then say to one another “he’s such a little person now!”
At least a few times a week your Daddy and I look at each other and say “he looks so grown up already!” as you cruise around the room, wearing a look of big-boy concentration across your chubby baby cheeks, completely oblivious to us and our bittersweet emotions.
You’re 11 months old now–squirmy, indignant, hilarious, oh-so-busy and sweet–often all at the same time.
This month felt like the first time we started making real memories with you–not that you’ll remember, but that we’ll remember. Memories that don’t necessarily revolve around development milestones or poop.
I’m not so concerned anymore with remembering the first time you showed me your “pincer grip,” but I want to remember forever the time when I offered you more yogurt and you pushed away the spoon, flung your foot up on the table and started sucking on your big toe instead.
I don’t care if I don’t remember the first time you walked across the room holding onto just a few of my fingers. Instead I want to remember the the way you stand at the side of the bathtub, clenching every single muscle in your body and making incredibly high-pitched (yet, thankfully, oddly quiet) screaming sounds until we pick you up and put you in the tub.
Rather than remember the exact date and time you started standing by yourself, I want to remember the first time we took you to the park. You loved crawling through the tunnel and you shrieked with happiness when Daddy stood on the outside so you could grab his face through the holes. I took you to the park by myself a few mornings ago and the first thing you did in the tunnel was stand up and peer out the holes, laughing and looking for Daddy.
I want to remember the time you were so excited to see Daddy come through the front door that you fell over backwards.
I want to remember the look of utter, hilarious, misery on your face the first few times we sat you down in the grass at Freedom Park and you attempted to sit with both of your legs up in the air at the same time so you wouldn’t have to touch a blade of it.
I want to remember your obsession with straws and ice cubes. Will, the easiest way to get through a meal with you in relative peace right now is to give you a glass of ice water to play with. Unfortunately this also usually means we leave the restaurant all three of us soaked in cold water with a pile of melting ice cubes below our chairs. If you see a glass of water you will squirm, whimper, fight your way out of arms and practically crawl across the table to get to it. We’re amazed at how happy you are playing in the cold water, beaming as your hands turn bright red from the cold.
I want to remember how much you love it when your daddy throws a sheet over your head and crawls under to make a baby-and-daddy tent for two. I want to remember the way you, much to my dismay, love to bounce up and down on your crib mattress when I try to put you to bed before you are ready. I want to remember how much you love to play in the bathroom, destroy rolls of toilet paper, and the look on your face as you try to figure out why I let you play with the flusher on the toilet but not the plunger on the floor behind it.
But perhaps more than anything right now, I want to remember the way you curl up to fit as much of your body in my arms as possible after a long busy day. I want to remember the way you fling your long baby legs across my lap and stick your baby toes in my face as you nurse. I want to remember the way you still sometimes like to ride around on my hip while I do chores around the house because, for now, sometimes being with me is still better than playing with your toys. I want to remember the look of joy and wonder on your face as you wake up next to your Daddy and I on a lazy Saturday morning and the way you always wriggle around in bed to get as close to us as possible.
Your going to be 1 year old next month! How time flies! Thank you for making us the happiest parents in the world, little boy. We love you more than words can say.
All of our love,