Wednesday, January 31, 2007

9 months old

Dearest Hatchling,

TWO Thursdays ago (ack! Bad Mamala!) you turned 9 months old. To celebrate, we took you out to an Irish pub for a quick Guinness. Haha, I kid - we did take you to a bar, but it was really to celebrate your Uncle Matt's exodus from corporate hell. I must say that you were quite the belle of the bar, though - you definitely thrive in a crowd. As soon as we got there, I stood you on the table and you stretched out your arms in benediction of the drinkers, pronouncing "ba-ba-ba" and flashing that killer grin. Of course, you still won't let anyone but me or your father actually HOLD you, but as long as you're safely out of the clutches of any non-parent, you're happy to flirt and smile and talk and grab and just generally bask in the adoration of those around you.

Ready for lift off

One of the biggest events of this last month was your first Christmas. Of course, you didn't really get what was going on, but the rest of the family was more than excited enough for you. You had two special outfits, one for Christmas Eve and one for Christmas Day, and you got enough presents for at least three babies. So many outfits, and sleepers (yessss!), and cute little toys, and books galore. My favorite present for you was your new big-girl car seat, which we were desperately in need of, as you have completely outgrown your infant seat. Seriously, putting you in that thing was getting to be a struggle of Houdiniesque proportions; the straps couldn't be extended any further, your legs sprawled over the sides, and once you were actually fastened in, you were pinned up against the seat so tight that you couldn't even move. It was not a good situation, but thanks to Grandma and Grampa, you are now riding in style, in a new, roomy, luxuriously padded car seat. Woot!

What's going on over there?

The week between Christmas and New Year's was pretty jam packed, since your Tante Melissa got married on the 30th. This meant a lot of upheaval in your schedule what with all the traveling and sleeping in new places, and for the most part you handled it with your usual aplomb. You were extremely patient with all the wedding party getting ready, and you only fussed a little in the church before falling asleep on your daddy's shoulder. Then you had a fabulous time at the reception, munching on a bun of bread and gazing in wonder as your aunt and grampa blew bubbles at you from the party favors.

Watching Bubbles

Speaking of buns, another new and delightful development this month was the institution of "naked time," a period of about 10-15 minutes just before we put you in your sleeper, where you get to roll around the sofa without a stitch of clothing or a fibre of diaper on you. Lemme tell you, you loooooooooove you some nakey time. We start stripping you down and you just about lose your mind with excitement. You giggle, and kick, and twist around like a little maniac, eating your toes and babbling all kinds of baby goodness to us. I said to your aunt that I figure it won't be too long before you learn to be self-conscious about your body, so I want to make sure you enjoy the heck out of it until that happens. To which your aunt responded, "I don't know - she is your kid ... maybe she'll be totally comfortable getting naked even when she's older!" I'm sure I have no idea what she's talking about.

Toes are delightful

I can't forget to mention the other big addition this month, namely: FOUR MORE TEETH. You popped the upper two just before Christmas, and started cutting your lower bicuspids right after that. I dunno why you wanna be such an over-acheiver. You have friends who haven't even cut ONE tooth yet, but oh, no, you have to have six. Fortunately, you seem to have stopped biting me while you're nursing. Unfortunately, you've taken to grinding your teeth. This, of course, proves once again that you're my daughter, but oh god it makes a horrifying sound. I can actually hear the enamel splintering off your teeth. Since you're too young to understand it when we say "no," the only way we can get you to stop is by putting one of our fingers in your mouth, at which point you grind the finger instead of your teeth. Not much of an improvement, really, because godDAMN, you bite hard. Perhaps you'd care to transfer that power to, say, cheerios in the future?


Biting aside, though, you're an extremely fun daily companion. You're bursting at the seams with personality, and everyone remarks on what a happy baby you are. I know you certainly make *us* happy, anyway, and I hope the feeling is mutual.