Hi Doll. The approach of your first birthday has me wondering about what to make you to commemorate the occasion. A smash cake is planned, but if I really wanted to treat you special I'd dump out the vacuum cleaner on your tray. You like fizzies and savories, kombucha, curry, refried beans, berries, and are still honoring the same bowl of oatmeal every morning. You are the first to tell me if an avocado has been a day too long on the shelf, and never seem to tire of being in your high chair, eating whatever you're offered, charmed and amazed by the vessel it arrives in. You're favorite food in taste, texture and accessibility remains toilet paper right off the roll.While we watch you stand hands-free for extended periods, the probability that you might take a step at any moment keeps us bug-eyed and enthralled. Other things that have caught our eye:
Turning on/off light switches
Pushing whatever you can move around the house
Pulling wet clothes out of the dryer
Unplugging cords from the wall :(
Wedging your delicious, thick thigh in the security gate
Threatening to pause Daddy's work day with the push of a button
Holding things in your mouth while you travel down the hall
Rifling through the trash
Licking the trash can
Eating dirt, mulch, rocks and clumps of compost
Walking in your walker like a person who walks
Toileting
At a playscape you so delighted a little boy that he squealed at the sight of you, and you dissolved into tears. Yesterday you were sitting on your dad's lap while he was on a video call and startled so hard you lost it after he let out a loud laugh. I picked you up and you somehow maneuvered us both out of the room. When I'm holding you and absently stroking your back and you want to transform it into a nursing session, you move my hands to my shirt and pant expectantly.Nursing is still a big part of our days and while I don't have a hard deadline to wean you by, I wonder where you'll get your teething comfort after my supply has left the building. At the end of the day after we've survived the dreaded pajama game, I shake up a bottle of soy formula and we nestle together on the couch. I am considering this our golden hour despite the raging sun at 6:30, because I can feel our glow. I recline in the corner of the couch with your cheek tucked next to mine, your body trapping my left arm, and while you deftly wield your bottle I wait, sizzling with satisfaction, sedated, wearing your weight like an x-ray apron. In the past I've struggled to call upon my happy place, to picture a sanctuary and hover there to reach a calm state. I don't know if I've ever been more vulnerable, wholly invested as I am and spacing out on the scent of your hair, but I've never felt this insulated or content. Thanks to this crushing love for you and your stillness I can fawn over tiny discoveries, like the downy blonde hair on your knees that grew overnight. Keep it up, Babe.
Mom
