There’s a big part of me that doesn’t want to write you this letter.* I am having a really hard time accepting the fact that you are now 8 months old. Which I’m sure sounds ridiculous to you at the age you are now, reading this, but here you are 8 months old and you already seem too grown-up for my liking (which may just help you to understand why I still won’t let you get your ears pierced).
You are learning quicker than I can keep track of, which is amazing and exciting to witness (you sit, you wave, you flirt, you joke) but this is slightly bittersweet because a lot of what you are learning is no longer to my credit, but to the fabulous nursery school you attend. Every time I pick you up from there you’re one step closer to the little girl you will become.
Gone are the early days when I would collect you and you would look like you had been to battle – red-rimmed eyes, small, sad face, covered in food you refused to eat. Instead when I go get you you are smiling and excited. Well, you’re still covered in food, but that’s just because you insist on feeding yourself.
You greet me with a face that says "Awesome! Mom’s stopped by to watch me play with my new friends” instead of “Thank GOD Mama has come to rescue me”. At nursery you’ve discovered the joy of being pushed in a swing, finger painting, eating chocolate ice cream. They all love you there – love making you smile. They tell me all the time how beautiful and happy you are – when you’re not startled or overly tired, that is, otherwise you scream loud enough for the pre-schoolers to hear you on the top floor. I suppose I only have myself to blame for the fact that when you’re miserable you make sure every one knows it. Like mother like daughter.
You’re finally able to sit and it looks like it won’t be long until you can get into that sitting position on your own. I love watching you do these little ab work outs trying sit on your own. Notice I said watching and not joining in. Yeah – Mama don’t do sit-ups. Go see your Aunt Claire if you want crunch tips.
I am often blown away by how much I love you. Your laugh, your smile, the little look you get when you’re concentrating really hard or that adorable pout and sharp stare you get when you’re frustrated – which makes me feel like I’m looking in a baby mirror – all these looks make my heart sing. I had you sitting in your little activity centre ma-bob today. This activity thing has so much to keep you occupied - a disco ball, a turntable, this 40’s style mic that encourages you to ‘sing it baby' and the coolest version of the ABC’s I have ever heard. And despite all this song, dance, and flash surrounding you, vying for your attention, your eyes were on me, waiting for me to look at you, to sing with you, to laugh with you.
And oh when I did. Your little face could not get any more joyous if it tried – you looked as if you could quite literally burst with excitement. Arms and legs flailing. Babbling so loud and fast you’re practically choking on your baby gurgles. And then it hit me.
I’ve been so focused on and in awe of how much I love you that I almost didn’t realize just how much you love me.