Dear BD --
Right now you're in bed. You just let our some crying for a bit, then fell asleep. I have a horrifying feeling that you're about to start teething, and I have to tell you that teeth aren't really necessary. There's a marvelous invention called food processors and I'm willing to puree your food until you turn 18. My father once pureed a tuna fish sandwich for me when I knocked out my two front teeth when I was eight. I'm willing to do the same for you.
This month, you experienced the joy of Christmas. And I have to say that you made out like a bandit with all your toys. Many of which have a lot of annoying songs. But you like them quite a bit, so I'm willing to put up with songs like (set to the tune of what I can't remember because these lyrics are burned into my brain):
The spotted cow goes moo/The horse is brown and neighs/The yellow duck goes "quack quack quack"/ and won't you be amazed!
Over and over again, until I start actually wanting to hear Maroon 5 songs just to get that out of my head.
Anyways, this month, you've really upped your eating capabilities. You're devouring two meals now -- breakfast and dinner, as well as feeding from my boob. You're getting big -- your face is filling out and you're wearing nine-month jumper.
You've also gotten more vocal when you're unhappy. Normally, when you're well rested and happy, you can play by yourself for a long time, closely examining and tasting several toys. However, when you're tired, you hoot and holler for me, demanding that I entertain you. Which would work some days, except that you've got a short attention span when you're tired. Nothing amuses you, except perhaps watching Anthony Bourdain on TV and banging on the computer.
I'm also sporting several pinch marks on my arms, boobs, face and other parts of my body thanks to you. Thankfully you don't give that much pressure or else I'd have to explain to people that it's not my husband that's leaving those marks, but my seven-month old daughter. You enjoy kneading my skin with your hands. You also slap my arms when I'm breastfeeding with a stiff-armed wave, much like a penguin flapping their wings. As a result, I've begun calling you, "Penguina," for fun.
You enjoy studying faces. Often you'll grab for my glasses, Daddy's beard or fistfuls of our hair. You study everything like a scientist, closely looking at things and then shoving them in your mouth for a taste. Today you spent about five minutes studying my nipple thinking, "Lo! what is this thing? This thing that conveys milk to my mouth? I must study it!" You're also grabbing anything we use -- letters, utensils, the phone -- and attempting to taste that too. It's been a fun juggling act to try and keep things out of your mouth at times.
You're also going to bed much more easily. Admittedly, we did the Feber method, which depending on who you talk to, makes sense or is worse than Britney Spears giving her kids soda and whitening their teeth. While some kids may not work well with it, you've done alright. Bedtime's also been easier because now I don't do the ping-pong back and forth to your room. I think also getting more food in your stomach has helped a bit because you're not waking up going "I'M HUNGRY! FEED ME!"
You're poops are also getting more exciting since you began solid food. You're not constipated now, but they're big, thick and reflect the color you ate. My darling dear, I can't say that you poo your diaper now -- kid, you crap your pants, judging by the volume and consistency.
The biggest news is that you're now rolling over from front to back and back to front. It makes putting lotion on you at night exciting because you twist and turn like a little greased piglet. I've also found you on your stomach after naps and in the morning, happy as a clam.
All of this is fun. Even when we're at home, slapping books and chewing on blocks for an hour. No matter what, you're always a delight and I love you madly.
Love,
Momma
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