Ten Months

Dear Patrick: You are ten months old!

Look at that face. I can see glimpses of the little boy you are becoming, and the baby is slowly disappearing. Growing up.

This is the look of, "Wow, check this laundry thing out. Fascinating. And could you just give a man a second here?"


"Look at this!"

"Could I get in here? I already figured out I can't eat it."


There has been such tremendous growth in the past month. You are babbling up a storm. It's not just the screams and coos, but actual syllables. Ba buh ba da da di gah ga. Daddy really encourages the dada's. I'm guessing the first word will actually be puppy. Or coffee. Or "Danica, go on!" And when we repeat stuff back at you, you smile so big, thrilled that the big people have finally learned your language.

You've also started enjoying books. Like any self-respecting kid, you are selective about your books. You like the same three books Over and Over and Over. Sometimes I can sneak in one that I like, the Sandra Boytons being a particular favorite of mine. You like Baby Cakes (from Papa and Nana), Five Little Ladybugs, and your color books. I suppose it's karma, my Mom says that for a while I would ONLY listen to ABC books. Just this morning you crawled off my lap, grabbed a book off your shelve, and sat down with it quite deliberately. So we read it.

Here you are with Gigi. You let her snuggle and read through "Doggies" several times. Gigi does a great "ruf ruf," see how entranced you are?

Meals remain a daily entertainment, as evidenced by the photo essays over the last month. You get hungry, but don't want me to feed you. Or I can feed you, but only if you can hold a spoon. Or you want to feed yourself, but not much gets into your mouth. Or you want to grab the food with your hands, and I can shovel some in between attempts. Awesome. The dogs especially enjoy the liberal tossing of items once you are finished.

Dogs are awesome for baby meal times. Vacuum, garbage, and entertainment all in one. I will rent them out for a nominal fee.

And you can MOVE. You've started cruising around the furniture, and there is a deliberateness when you stand up and sit down that hints at activity to come. "He's so busy!" everybody exclaims. And I love it, even though it keeps me on my toes. You and Danica take turns running me ragged. Thank God for Freya, my lazy child.

But you still nurse a lot, sometimes just enough to check in and regroup. I love what Daddy calls Full Body Nursing, when you throw yourself across my chest to reach the desired food source. Or you'll start grabbing at my clothes in public and latching on top of my shirts. Subtle, dude, very subtle.

Some days it's hard. I feel all maxed out, wanting a break, wishing that you weren't so damned demanding. Some days, sweet boy, you are surviving on your looks. It's the days when you crawl towards me, fussing pathetically, and Daddy says (once again) "He was fine until he saw you." Save the drama for the Mama, right bobo?

I love you, Patrick. Always and always.

Love,
Mommy