Letter to our 44 week old

This week, on 10/11/2012, you turned 44 weeks old.  On the 8th, you turned 10 months old.

To celebrate your 10 month birthday, you had a middle of the night party in your crib.   I heard a noise at 1:35 AM on the monitor and just assumed you were turning over in your sleep. You regularly laugh or mutter to yourself while you sleep, so it’s not an uncommon thing to hear noises from you. Just in case, though, I got up, used the restroom, and waited for you to cry for me. I heard another noise at 1:55 AM and decided to check the video monitor. You were awake and playing with your Einstein music soother. So I went in to nurse you and you greeted me with a big ass grin as if to say, “Hey, welcome to my party! You brought the drinks!” You nursed for 45 minutes, unusual, as you’re usually a “take care of business get me back to bed” guy in the middle of the night… and then you pushed off, but wanted to go back to playing. So I flipped the thing over the top of your crib so you couldn’t turn it on (little buttnugget that you are, you have figured out how to turn the master switch to the “on” position) and informed you that it was time for sleep and left the room.  You protested for 4 minutes and then passed out.  Lessons Learned: Remove the musical soother from the crib. If baby makes a noise, always check on the video monitor, never assume. All in all, I lost 1.5 hours of sleep that I badly needed because of your party.

You’ve been settling in and lingering while nursing this past week, especially in the mornings.  I don’t know if it’s a growth spurt or just that the temperature is cooler, or just a desire on your part to be snuggled.  Whatever the reason for it, I am savoring these extra long nursing sessions.  Practicality would suggest cutting them short, because I really shouldn’t be late to work.  But then, I realize that my job is just that… a job.  If I’m 15 minutes late because you needed me?  Well, then I will make it up by taking a shorter lunch break.

With the cooler weather, we’ve been putting you in footed sleepers at nighttime.  It’s so weird to see them on the hanger in your closet and think to myself, “Those are way too big for my baby, those things look like something a 2 year old would wear.”  Then I put them on you, and they fit perfectly.  Sizing, you are weighing in at 26 pounds 12 ounces, still wearing 18 month size items, some 24 months. Diapers, Bum Genius, double stuffing morning diapers.

You continue to work diligently on your leg strength.  You now prefer to stand wherever you may be, only crawling if you feel the need to go somewhere.  You continue to stand by yourself (no holding on) for longer periods of time.   You “cruise” regularly around the living room.  You are also working on your vocabulary.  You say, “Uh oh,” “Mama,” “Pop,” “Dada,” and a new addition this week, while petting one of the  kitties you will say, “Kit cat.”  Your Grandma D. got you on the toilet for a poop the afternoon of the 10th.  Oh, I love elimination communication when it works.  Better yet, this week you’ve discovered how to flush the toilet — so, after you pooped in the toilet, your Grandma let you flush it as if it were a reward.  haha

We took you to the doctor’s office to get the second half of your flu shot… the first thing the nurse says when we got you on the table was, “He’s so strong!”  I’m supposing that will be something you hear for the rest of your life because it’s certainly been something we’ve heard for the first 10 months of it.  I met you and your father at the doctor’s office and we nursed afterward to make it all better and it was the highlight of my day!

Another highlight for that day is that I finished the registration process to become a human milk donor.  To do that, I had to have my blood drawn and so I walked into the milk bank and there was Becky, our birth doula!  We were both SO EXCITED to see each other that we had tears in our eyes and talked a million miles an hour to each other to try and catch up.  It turns out that the midwifery where she now works and the milk bank share office space and I had no idea!

Things I want to remember about you this week:  How you farted at the doctor’s office this week but waited until later to poop a 2nd time for the day for your grandma.  How we have yelling contests in the parking lot, and on Tuesday in the Costco parking lot, all three of us (your father, me and you) yelled together.  I wondered briefly what the people around us thought, but then realized I didn’t really care.  The yelling together thing is a tradition that your father and I do on Fridays to “yell out” the stress of the week.  I love the way you cross your ankles on the arm of the chair while you’re nursing.  I love the way you smile and even laugh if something strikes you as funny while nursing.  How you experienced the first rain (and thunder) of the season (that you remember) and you squealed in delight.  The way you squeal and laugh when I get home from work and you see me.  The way you look at me when I come late to your music class, I intentionally try to blend in with everyone else and you look at me, once, twice, three times, trying to figure out why I’m way across the room if I am who you think I am.

As the seasons change and we move further on the calendar into Autumn, the mornings have been darker longer.  So, when I enter your room in the morning, I open the shades, turn the little lamp by your bed on and on the clock by your bed, I switch from the white noise feature to listen to the radio.  As you nurse, we watch the sky brighten through your window, and the dramatic shadows and clouds over the mountains that your room views, while we listen to the songs on the radio.  Sometimes I sing along, and sometimes the beat inspires you to kick your feet rhythmically while you smile and even laugh over your cleverness.  This morning, the song “A Thousand Years” (lyrics) came on the radio and I found myself singing it to you…

Time stands still
Beauty in all she is
I will be brave
I will not let anything take away
What’s standing in front of me
Every breath
Every hour has come to this

I have died everyday waiting for you
Darling don’t be afraid I have loved you
For a thousand years
I’ll love you for a thousand more

Seasons and calendar dates are like a beautiful weaving dance of memories and meanings.  For it was two years ago, October 5, 2010, that would have been your older sibling’s due date, except I miscarried that baby earlier that year on April 1st at 7 AM.  Precisely one year later, on April 1st, 2011, at 7 AM, I had my blood drawn to find out if I was pregnant with you, or not.  I left my doctor’s office in tears, convinced that because of the enormous amount of bleeding I was having that I was not pregnant.  I couldn’t possibly be.  I even accused my doctor of pulling an April Fool’s joke when he called me with the the news later that day that I was, indeed, pregnant.  And here you are, 10 months old.  Every single day, you are a living, breathing testament of God’s grace to us.  I now believe in miracles.  You are our healing.

Love, Momma