Dear Benevolent Dictator --
If I ever doubted that you were my child (even though you resided in my womb for nine months and also bear and uncanny likeness to me, but with your father's facial structure -- WHICH IS AWESOME by the way), this month proved to me that you are the fruit from my loins.
You, my child, are a champion eater. I never realized how much you can eat until we visited your Uncle Dan and Aunt Stella last weekend. When I was mixing up a bowl of your rice cereal, blended beef and veggies, your Uncle Dan looked at the bowl.
"I'd be full after eating that," he said.
You weren't. You also demolished Kashi cereal, 1.5 bananas and other things. At a play date last Thursday, you ate a baby's Cheerios and then moved onto another baby's veggie puffs. You eat like I do -- with gusto and no end in sight.
I'd hate to see you at an all you can eat buffet.
Admittedly, your poops are also pretty damned massive now. Or as Aunt Stella said, when she saw one of them, "It looks like road pavement!"
This has been a busy and amazing month. You're pulling yourself up to standing now on furniture, crawling slowly to chase me around the kitchen and determinedly around the house and the march of teeth continue. All of this (plus a cold) has resulted in some busy days and nights. You've never been good at indicating that you're tired and its gotten more so this month. There's just too much for you to see and do. It's like you're saying, "SLEEP IS FOR WUSSIES!"
This month also saw your first stomach bug, which was hard on all of us. Frankly, I'm amazed at how quickly you bounced back. You are one tough cookie.
You're also talking -- admittedly more to Daddy than me. With me you often grunt and cry (dear lord the crying!) for what you want or don't want. Some days I just want to lock you in a room and let you demolish it, but if you've seen the toy or the room before (that is, within the last few days), you fuss loudly.
As a result, I have no idea how to deal with you when you get up at 5:30 in the morning. It's kind of hard sometimes. I used to be able to sideline nurse and doze for a little bit, but now, that's not possible. You insist on crawling around or throwing yourself off the bed or stomping on my face to get to the window. When I put you down on the floor to play, you scream and cry because you're on up on the bed with me.
I have to tell you this right now -- if you insist on getting me up at 5:30 in the morning, you can't expect good service from your minion. You can demand it, but it's not happening. Not until I get a cup of coffee in me and a few minutes more sleep.
You are getting more demanding. I'm getting a glimpse into what it'll be like when you're a teenager. Except then, I think I'll be able to yell back at you instead of right now where I sometimes have to grit my teeth and put up with you.
You're living up to your nickname of Naomi Campbell. I find it harder and harder to entertain you and do my own random stuff. My life is becoming more and more about you, and while I do selfishly wish for my time and space, sometimes catering to you reminds me that this servitude can be sweet.
Case in point, on the way home yesterday, you got very fussy and upset about sitting in your car seat for the long trip home. It wasn't a picnic for me either, since I was tired and worn out from running around with your cousins, and all I wanted to do was sleep.
But there we were, sitting in the backseat as I amused you with toys, cereal and playing peek-a-boo with my sunglasses. And even though I was tired and sometimes wished that I could just sit and listen to my iPod and doze, your giggles and squeals made the trip home a lot more memorable than if you slept the entire way home.
Love,
Momma
1 comment:
Naomi Campbell? You're not getting her a diamond-studded cell phone for her to throw at her assistant; i.e., you?
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