my love, my stink, my bug.
you are 10 months old.
the downy fur on the top of you head has grown out. your hair is now a real blond and feels thick between my fingers. at the nape of your neck, it erupts into dozens of tiny curls, which I find quite delightful. i’m sure you don’t let me touch your hair now, so i’m getting my fill.
in the morning i hear you chattering away to yourself, whole conversations that i can’t make heads or tails of. but then you sense my footsteps creaking down the hallway, and by the time i open the door a crack, you’re standing tall, gripping the rails of the mahogany crib, beaming at me, your four hard won little teeth on display.
when we head into mine and dad’s room, you crawl all over the cream and green and black duvet, always bee-lining for the edge. and often you go over the edge, your tiny foot secure in the firm grasp of your dad. as we try to lecture you you flash us your cheekiest grin. there appears to be not even the teensiest ounce of fear in your tubby body.
i hope you’ve outgrown that by now.
your dad loves to wrestle with you, and i have to admit, you hold your own. you are far stronger than you should be my love; diaper changes are now a full contact sport. you giggle mercilessly as he tickles your side, and he laughs as you crawl up and over his head and tumble onto the worn beige carpet. my heart explodes watching the two of you. he loves you so much. always know that behind all that macho stuff is a dad who will go to the ends of the earth for you.
you are all sorts of work though, stink. you don’t sit still for a second. you’ve already taken your first steps and are barreling towards walking. you use anything to propel you forwards: a person, a piece of furniture, the wall. it’s really quite astonishing. you’re so desperate to get moving, it breaks me a little. when i try to hold you now, you reach up and wind your chubby little hands around my fingers, pulling me forward so you can keep exploring.
i find myself wanting to freeze time more than i thought i would. when you’re tired, you still amble your way to my lap, rest your head on my chest, and jam you thumb in your mouth, sucking contentedly. and i rest my chin on the soft folds of your hair and try to memorize your scent. and the feel of you nestled perfectly in my tired arms. and take a heart snapshot of sorts.
because i’m realizing that these days are numbered. and precious.
and i’m enjoying them.
i’m enjoying you.
to the fullest my bug.
fyi: the first post in this series is called my love, my stink, my bug. you are 6 months old.