Thursday, December 10, 2009

Nine Fine Months: Samuel edition

Dear Samuel,

Well, another month, another milestone. We are nearing one and the advances you make each day are so exciting and fun and amazing to behold. You are changing into a little boy, an adventurer and daredevil, curious about everything the world has to offer. What a joy to watch you grow and change!

Like your sister, you just couldn't be happier than when you are outside. The swings at the park are your absolute favorite, and you will squeal with joy while soaring alongside your sister, higher and higher as you hold on tight, fingertips and knuckles white with excitement. The cold doesn't stop you from enjoying the outdoors. Just yesterday we went for a long walk in the wagon and you laughed and giggled and squealed as your cheeks and nose grew rosier and rosier.

You love to get down on the floor and wreak havoc. You can always be found pulling up on furniture, reaching for Maddie's hair (and giving it a yank!), stealing ornaments from the tree, splashing in the dog's bowl, eating the dog's food (on Dada's watch), putting random objects in your mouth, reaching for the toilet, unrolling toilet paper, crawling in the dishwasher, watching the dryer go round and round, just to name a few of your favorite daily activities.

This month you started climbing the stairs, standing alone momentarily, drinking from a straw (and a bottle, finally! Thank goodness!), waving goodbye, and giving kisses. You enjoy all kinds of foods, but especially carbs. Once again, like your sister in that respect. Your feet always seem to be going, swinging away if you're sitting in a chair or shopping cart, slapping the floor as you lay on your tummy. You are perpetually moving and perpetually happy.

That is, except when I leave you in your crib to sleep. For some reason, you don't like to sleep on your own. The babysitter informed me you talked for less than a minute last night when she put you down, but that's not quite the case when you're with me. I believe the term for that is mommy-training, and you're an professional, apparently.

In some respects, the months preceding and after you were born have been some of the hardest for me personally. I've been sick, exhausted, or sore for most of your life, in utero and out. It's been a long eighteen months and this most recent bout of mastitis has severely rocked my stalwart commitment to breastfeeding you until one year of age. It is an emotional and physical rollercoaster right now, and I want you to know that if I could, I would continue as long as possible for you to get the best advantage. But it is becoming clear that our time is drawing to a close. I've enjoyed (most) every minute of our sweet, intimate moments in the rocking chair, you twirling my hair and kicking your feet. Those will be the memories I work to imprint in my mind rather than the difficult, toe-curling, painful times we've had. I will never forget your busy little hands and feet and how you throw your arm above your head as you get close to finishing your meal.

Nine months is one of those stages where you wish you could just pause time because it is so fun in the life of a baby. This week your sister got you a balloon at the grocery store and it made you scream with delight so loud that nearly every person in the store had turned to look in your direction. Your arms flailed, almost blurry with movement, as you bounced that balloon in front of your face, your voice in an octave only Mariah could match. I beamed with pride, laughing to myself that I have the kind of baby who makes such loud, happy noise rather than mad.

You have this one upper tooth that wants so badly to break through your gums but every day that blister just forms and then goes away, leaving you at times cranky and frustrated and needy. I have to admit that it's nice to have a baby who needs to snuggle and wants the physical affection in times of distress. You are a great snuggler.

I am absolutely in love with you. You are full of love and laughter and joy and you make my heart so happy, little bud.



1 comment:

mel @ the larson lingo said...

I can't believe Sam is 9 months old! Another beautifully written letter. I absolutely love the picture of him on the chair. He is just too cute!