i last wrote you a letter when you were six months old. since then, you have grown an inch and gained over a pound. (i.e. you weigh 21 lbs, 14 oz, and are 29 1/4″ tall these days.) at eight months, your bottom front teeth finally popped out, and they’ve had sole chewing responsibility since. (more on that in a bit.) at about 8 1/2 months, you began to crawl. and now? you pull up on anything that might possibly support your weight, you cruise, you try so hard to stand on your own.
you are your own man, son. you are much more free range than your sister was at your age, mostly on account of our baby-friendlier home setup. there are no dogs with anxiety issues to watch out for, and there is a playroom with plenty of toys on which to drool and chomp and bang and throw. and so you crawl around the house
like since you own the place, as jude polices your every move: “ziggy, buddy, that’s not for babies, not for babies, NOT FOR BABIES!” she bellows as she hovers above you and steals away the remote control. and then she turns on the tv and asks to watch thomas.
currently, your favorite food is: yes. you LOVE every sort of food: cheerios, raisins, everything your mama purees for you, bananas, chicken, beans, pasta, cheese, bagels, lentils, hummus, carrots, etc etc. you want to taste anything we are eating. and then you rock back and forth in ecstasy as you chew like you have molars, making the “milk” sign–which we’ve interpreted as your way of saying “omg you guys, this right here is as good as milk, if not better.” then you clap your hands together – your way of signing “more”. and then you open your mouth in expectation, like a baby bird.
you continue to be an EC rockstar, sir. thank you. sometimes, you even crawl to the potty when you’ve got to do your business. you have made our lives so much easier, and our diaper maintenance so much less.
you are now fully, legally adopted. your mama is now protected to remain your mama, always. you are sealed together like the mother and son you are.
you laugh. oh, my ziggy, how you laugh. you giggle and snort and you find delight in your whole world.
you sing along now–with ABCs and the theme to thomas, most reliably. you hum and rock back and forth in your delicious baby-dance way. already, you match notes. color me impressed, mister nine month old.
you are in what i like to call your first adolescence, wherein you are in limbo between baby and toddler. your limbs are sort of gangly, your face changes shape and expression constantly, you actively communicate (and get all pissy when things don’t go your way) and then you settle in and nurse like a fiercely hungry newborn. i’m simply standing here on this threshold with you, trying not to miss a moment of your ever-fleeting babyhood.
you sleep. this development has come as an utter shock to your moms, honestly. because, here is what sleep looked like up until last week: your crib was in our room, mostly because we couldn’t figure out an interim plan before you and jude share a room. we didn’t want to give up our one spare bedroom, since we often have overnight guests. but. you weren’t sleeping in your crib much at all. at night, we could plop you down after you passed out in my arms. and there you would remain until approximately 2am, at which point you’d wake up wailing, because you could presumably sense the close proximity of my milk. i’d groggily pull you into bed with me, latch you on, and we’d both pass out. you should know that you would continuously eat until morning.
it was kind of impossible to come up with a sleep-training plan with our setup. and so we just didn’t. we just kept on with that arrangement, until i was simply too tired anymore. i confess that i loved co-sleeping with you, zig. since i work so many long hours, it was the most uninterrupted time i had with you. my body craved to have skin to skin contact with you. but neither of us were sleeping soundly.
and so we conceded. we moved your crib to the guest room and simply plopped you there instead one night, ready for the inevitable fight. but guess what happened? you slept. all night. in your bed. fluke, right? wrong. we’re on a winning streak of nearly two weeks now. you and i both are sleeping through the night. i’m SO proud of us.
(yes, you cry when we put your down for naps in your bed. but an hour turned to 30 mins turned to 15, and now you’ve got it down, mostly. [and dear internet: no– we did not simply let our son cry it out.])
sorry i am so verbose about the whole sleeping thing, son. but, until you have two kids of your own, you simply will not understand what a miracle it is to experience simultaneously sleeping children, especially overnight. i am downright euphoric.
alright, my wonderful boy, i am going to end this letter to you now.
until next time, know that you are my beloved, and that my lack of monthly letters has everything to do with the lack of free time to write, and nothing to do with you being a second child. i promise.
i love you and love you and love you.