You are 11 months old today. That means I am planning your first birthday party, and I am trying to wrap my brain around the fact that I've already had one full year with you and I only get 17-ish more, before you run off and act like a grown up. I'm constantly trying to wrap my heart and brain and fears around the facts that you are not mine-- but that you are God's and that He loves you more than I do- but I've just got to tell you-- this isn't easy. And I constantly struggle with it.
But I do want to celebrate who you're becoming-- you can't really be classified as a baby anymore-- you're on the move and you're independent and nosy, and you're always exploring everything. You can see things that I can't see- even microscopic pieces of fuzz on the carpet, and you are so fast that you can get it in your mouth within .5 seconds of seeing it. You HATE it when I scrape it out of your mouth, and you make me feel like I'm a horrible mother for depriving you of swallowing such gross things- even though I know I'm doing what's best for you.
You point at everything and your Dad and I explain what you're pointing out-- telling you what it's called and how it works. That's also the international sign for "take me there" and "I want that". We've recentely convinced you to use your signing abilities instead of just whining and although you've been an incredible eater for months, you've recently developed an aversion to veggies. I try to trick you by hiding them under fruit, but you're too smart for me and see right through my schemes. You crawl and pull up on everything and just last week you graduated to size 4 diapers. I've got to tell you that I really just want to keep you small forever- and although 12 month clothes still fit you, it hurts my heart that you wore an 18 month outfit to church yesterday and it wasn't any too big.
You smile and laugh and talk and talk and talk and you even say several recognizable words... you also pitch fits when you don't get your way and throw yourself backwards when we tell you no. You obey 99% of the time when we tell you no, but that doesn't mean you like it!
You are adored by me and your Dad, Gabe, Annie and Pops, Grandma and Grandpa, Uncle Eli and Uncle Sam, Uncle Jeff and Aunt Carrie, and Zachary and Steven too. AND the list is no where complete there. You're smart. And you love your Mama... and she loves that about you!
You weened yourself at 8 months, and then recently decided you were too mature for formula too. So this weekend, you had milk for the first time ever, and I skipped the bottle and went straight for the sippy cup-- and you drank it right up. You still don't drink enough milk according to the drs and google, but you eat yogurt and cheese like it's your job and after one quick look at your thighs, I'm reminded that you're doing quite alright.
You like to pull up on things, but you're not interested in walking or taking steps-- crawling suits you just fine. We let you pull over the dvds and tupperware, as well as the paperback books on the shelf in the living room-- so those are your first 3 stops each morning and after every nap. As soon as you've made your mess, you move on. I think you do this to spite me. But you're cute- and I let you get away with it.
You are a blessing-- and I love your sweet face, your wonderful smile, your handsome eyes, your precious hands, and every single second I get with you. I often tell you that I'm crazy and you drove me there, but you just smile because you know that I'm wrapped around your finger. Thank you for being my son. I love you and continue to pray that God will capture your heart very soon!