Nine Months

Last week you turned nine months. Your time on earth is now equivalent to the time you spent swimming and somersaulting and lounging lazily about in the limpid lagoon of liquid from which you emerged. Kind of like the Creature from the Black Lagoon, but less amphibious and more babyious.

This month you finally got that monkey off your back and started crawling. Grandma Brenda always says I'm trying to make you grow up too fast by wanting you to hit all these milestones. But let me tell you something. Grandma Brenda isn't the one who has to interrupt her celebrity gossip web site surfing...errr, ummm...I mean studies of the human genome...to hand you your plastic cubes every fifteen seconds every single day of every single week. Now, you can reach your own plastic cubes. And dog hairballs under the sofa. And remnants of dog treats. And dog toys. You've pooped more long black dog hair in your short life than most non-pet owners have in their entire lives. Another milestone of which you can be mighty proud.


To say we've been having a power struggle this past month would be like saying the Arctic Ocean is a little chilly come November. Since you started crawling, you have this perception that perhaps you rule the roost. That you are king of the hill. That you are the George Bush to our little independent nation. Well, tiny man, let me tell you something. YOU ARE NOT THE BOSS OF ME. No siree. That role has already been taken by Grandma Brenda. Ha, ha. Just kidding Grandma Brenda. No, really. Perhaps this tenacious streak you have - this persistance to have things your way - perhaps this will all pay off some day for you. It may inspire you to lead a multi-national company that discovers the cure for cancer. It may drive you to devise a global plan for world peace. It may catapult you to power as a dictator of a small foreign land.


But, take away the daily battles for world domination and we've got ourselves a pretty hilarious kid. Your top two outside teeth have come in this month making you look a lot like a miniature Count Dracula. We started going to a little play class once a week and you absolutely love it. You love seeing the other kids there and taking their toys away (see earlier dictator comments for clarification). But most of all you love the parachute game. We toss it in the air and you crawl underneath and it's like you found the end of a rainbow. You laugh and laugh and smile that glorious vampire smile. Those are the times when I remember how sweet and special you are. You are completely lost in the moment. Thoroughly enraptured by some colored nylon and the certainty of gravity. I love that you are just there and, for a few magical moments, as happy as your little heart will allow you to be.

I love you, Bubby.

Love,
Your Momma