You turned a decade of months old yesterday. (a week ago, now that I write again. I have GOT to get my procrastination under control)
I'm still trying to figure out how you've slipped past my wary eye to turn from a squiggly bland doughboy to a writhing, crafty little man.
Since I've started attacking you with my open mouth to "eat you", you reciprocated with an equally open-mouthed (tho slobbery) version of your own. Slamming your florescent curly white head on my florescent freckled white shoulders.
For the first nine months of your life, you were blissfully toothless. Unaware that you were a freak among babies with their glistening enamel, you with an ear to ear gum grin that could only be described as "rectangular".
Then, last week, while I was spinning you around the living room -- your head thrown back in giddy abandon I spotted a wee mar in your gums.
Lo and behold, Tooth!
That hater of all things calm and peaceful.
the harbinger of anguish and misery
You now throw yourself upon me at least 16 times a day in a piteous thrash as if to say, "Take this from me". It's enough to make me relish the gaping black rectangle. (by the time this makes it to 'publish' let's make the grand total of teeth: two)
A high point of last month is: we got you a crib so we don't have to maneuver around your sprawled out form at night. You're so much fun to cuddle with but sometimes we've just gotta have our space, small fry.
Babies in bed = best form of contraceptive.
(I generally end up with you back in the bed by morning somehow. Because you're just too smooshable and I just know I'm going to miss you squinting up at me to make sure I'm there and then burrowing your way back into my armpit.)
In between all this randomness you're just so chill I'm waiting for the turning point. I know I've said this before but what's going on? An early adolescence at the age of 5? or will I walk in on you shimmying down the trap door to your dungeon of Evil Baby Genius where you wreak havoc on the world much to the delight and pride of your uncle Olivier.
Anyways, you make me laugh alot.
Laughing is good.
And you make me sing more, even if it is "Little eyes". You also give me something to look forward to when I wake up, also, though you don't laugh at my contorted faces - you'll find some random noise or action hilarious and you'll 'bout bust a gut cackling over in the corner.
I'm glad you're quirky, and I'm pretty sure that even if it continues and you don't grow more than two teeth in the whole span of your lifetime I'd still think you were about the swellest thing to happen since fried ramen.
I guess that's why they call it a mothers love.
Much love, Mommy