Tenth Month

This should have been posted on Saturday, but I didn't get around to it. The novelty of a new baby must be wearing off, or maybe, the new baby is just wearing me out.

Dear Sarah,

I don't even know where to began summing up all of the changes from the last month. It's like you're an entirely different person from just a few weeks ago.



Your energy level and mobility are off the charts now. It's unbelievable, but in the span of about two days, you suddenly mastered crawling, and you haven't stopped since. When you see an open door or the bowl of dog water, you do only what I could describe as a sprint crawl. All of your energy and determination go into getting you outside or into the water before I can stop you. I'm now officially your fun killer. Sprints are also induced when I catch you trying to dip your fingers into the dirt in the houseplants. You give me a knowing smile, quickly pull your fingers out of the pot and dash away from me. It is so cute! I have to conjure up all of my willpower to pretend that I'm very stern and very much disapprove of the dipping of little fingers in soil and even more of babies who flee when they are scolded, but who am I kidding? I'm no disciplinarian. With me as a mother, you're likely to end up as a free spirit, living outdoors, perpetually crawling in search of dog water bowls in which to plunge your soiled fingers.



Aside from your affinity for all that is filthy, you still love music. Of course, the Jeopardy theme song is still a scream inducer, but your taste has now broadened to also include hip-hop. Whenever you hear "Let's Get It Started" by the Black Eyed Peas, your eyes light up, and you pump your little fist in the air. That's when I scoop you up and dance you around the house with a lack of rhythm that will someday shame you.



When you aren't listening to music, the most wonderful sounds are coming out of your little body. A trill-like "HIIiiiii" sound is my absolute favorite. I wish you would say this more often. Instead, you repeat non-stop what sounds like "BAH". At times, I think that you're trying to say balloon, at other times that you're saying ball, and sometimes I think that you're attempting to ask me to identify an object for you. In reality, you're probably just babbling, but I am convinced that even though you may not be able to say certain words that you understand a few. I can say "Cheerios", and you look up in the pantry right at the box, or I'll ask you where the broom is, and you'll point to where it's hanging. This, to me, is astounding. I'm convinced that you're a shoo-in to Harvard. Your dad thinks I need to get a life.



Sadly, you do have a number of dislikes. You still have a strong aversion to being held by strangers and to being left with Ludmilla, your babysitter. Getting your diaper changed is downright torturous - for both of us. You can't stand to stay still, and I can't stand to wipe a behind that's wiggling high in the air, but your hatred of cuddling has to be even worse for me. You've perfected the stiff-arm maneuver to keep me at bay when you see a potential hug coming your way. This drives me mad. I desperately want to have a Madonna and Child moment with you (no, not that Madonna ).



Well, sweet Sarita, I feel like this is all going much too fast. I'm torn between the excitement of all that is to come and the sadness of knowing what will never be again. That's why I try to enjoy you every day - even when that dirty bottom is wiggling in the air.

Love,
your mama