But man, this 11 months thing has been cool. You're becoming a little boy right before our eyes. We talk, you respond. We laugh, you giggle. We swig whiskey on the couch in our underwear, you drink water from a straw. These are the magical moments of being almost one.
You've started using words with some context applied to them. Sure, you are still the king of muttering random syllables at inappropriate times of night and day, but you've also figured out what certain things are called. Like "dada". When he leaves in the morning as you eat breakfast, we make a big production out of saying "bye bye" to "dada". Of course, you don't respond to any of that. You just like me to look like a boob as I sit with my matted hair and frog pyjamas waving moronically at your dad. But, as soon as he walks out of the house and locks the door, you usually then make a quizzical face and say "dada?" Kind of like "Oh, you mean that big bald guy was leaving. That's what your hysterics were all about?"
You also manage to sneak out a "bye bye" and a "momma" on rare occasion. "Momma" is typically reserved for when you are particularly frustrated or angry. That's really nice. Having your name associated with moments of sheer madness. Really. I'm touched. I have tried in vain to get you to say "paella" if not for the simple fact I really just wanted to tell people your first word was "paella". I mean, really, how many kids can claim that? That totally would have got us on Oprah.
We celebrated our first Christmas as a new family a few weeks ago. We spent Christmas Eve walking the neighbourhood to look at Christmas lights and opening some of your 324 gifts. We were so excited about all your presents that we made you stay up late to open them with us. Please make note of five words in that sentence that we learned a little lesson from: made you stay up late. One of our family members wasn't too happy about being kept out of bed an hour too long. But, no rest for the wicked, little man, as we hauled off to Grandma's and Grandpa's house for Christmas morning. Normally, we'd have celebrated the day sitting with a nice cup of coffee, eaten a nice, warm breakfast and casually chatted as we slowly opened gifts. Now take the inverse of each of those statements and you have what we ended up with. It was crazy and chaotic and an absolute hornet's nest of activity. But you loved every nutty second of it. You were most excited about flailing wrapping paper about and trying to eat bows. I was most excited we didn't have to end up visiting the ER that morning to remove gold curly ribbon from your trachea.
For my birthday, you spent two entire nights away from your dad and I. You managed the transition really well and charmed them - mostly - with your usual Jackness. Minus the part where you lost your ever-loving mind because dinner wasn't served when you requested it. The nerve of those hosts. Pish tosh. You've also done so well with our new nanny who I believe you think is your designated play giver from heaven. Never mind anything else, just PLAY with me WOMAN. I suspect she spoils you by simply focusing every morsel of her being on your play time. It is woefully disappointing for you the next day when you are stuck with me and you're all "WHOA WOMAN!? Why are you not crawling on the floor with me making chicken noises and tickling me?"
How much have I loved this past month? More than I could ever say, Jack. That sense of recognition and joy that sweeps over you when you see me or your dad is just overwhelming. The times when we laugh and then you laugh to imitate us is the sweetest sound to me. And how you point up at the light EVERY SINGLE NIGHT at dinner to show us that you know that if you point at it, we'll tell you what it is. Again. And again. And again. And I would do it a hundred times over if it let me see that pride and joy in your face, my sweet bubby.
Love,
Your Momma
