You are ten months (and three days) old. You are in double digits, and it won't be long before we measure your life in years instead of months. I call you my Toddler Boy, even though you're not toddling yet. You crawl everywhere, sometimes faster than I can catch you. You would very much like to climb into the fireplace.
You pull up on everything, including me. You grab my hair like it's a hunk of rope and hoist yourself up. You continue to like every food I offer you, with the notable exceptions of flavored soy yogurt (plain is fine and dandy), applesauce (apple slices are where it's at), and apricots (not acceptable in any form). Recently, you turned some kind of corner with food and decided you knew how to chew. You would eat a whole banana by yourself if I let you.
You have six teeth coming in, practically all at the same time. It's making you one cranky-ass mothersucker. You're coping by being super clingy, and for the first time since you made your entrance, only Mommy will do. You want to hold me and cuddle with me and nurse and yank my hair, and you want to do it all the time. And if anyone else tries to hold you or comfort you, you cry and lean towards me. Of course, you resist and lean away when I try to comfort you, but you always wind up sinking down and relaxing into my arms.I think I really do love you more every day. Your laugh is addictive. Sometimes I miss you when you're asleep. Even when you're clawing me with your talon fingernails, or pushing me away with all your strength, or squalling when I try to put a diaper on you. Even when you're being a bitchpants, you're my favorite person. And when you're grabbing my head and trying to kiss my cheeks, nothing can be wrong in my world.
It's a little insane how much I love you, dude. Seriously.
Love,
Mommy
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