Monthly Archives: April 2009

Month 11

Dear Shobha,

Today you are eleven months old.  I thought last month was tiring.  I don’t know if there’s a word to describe this month.  Exhausted, perhaps?  No, I don’t think exhausted even covers it.  Whatever it is that comes after exhausted, that’s where I am this month.

I gotta tell you kiddo, you may have been two months early, but there is no holding you back now.  Every day you push yourself to do more, explore more, climb on more.  Every day you amaze me with your energy level.  You are constantly checking things out and always looking for something new to check out.  Most of my days are spent chasing after you, blocking you from getting at the cable box or the computer and keeping you from putting things like tissues or my slippers in your mouth.


One thing I haven’t mentioned in previous months that bares mentioning this month is the changing table.  Once upon a time, you loved your changing table.  There you had Mommy or Daddy right at the perfect distance.  You’d coo at us and smile and laughed every time it was time for a new diaper.  In fact, the changing table is where we got our first smiles from you and our first laughs from you.  Alas, the shining moment in history for our dear changing table is just that: history.  Now you do everything in your power to make diaper changes a true test of skill and patience.  You instantly try rolling over, reaching for the lamp, arching your back, and generally making every attempt to put an immediate end to the diaper changing process.  Trust me when I tell you that I’d love nothing more than to never have to change another poopie diaper.  But since you have not yet been introduced to the potty (nevermind mastering the technique) diaper changes are still going to be a daily, several times a day, occurence.  And I will sleep well knowing that should I ever need to stuff an octopus into a straight jacket, I think I could manage with the skills I’ve obtained wrestling you into a clean diaper every few hours each day. 


Last month I spoke too soon on two accounts.  One, I said you were back to sleeping through the night for the most part.  And two, I said that I hoped the rest of your teeth came in easily for you.  This month has been a struggle in both regards. 

For many, many months your father and I were so happy to report that you were so good at sleeping through the night.  We went on in bliss not ever really realizing that our happy full nights of sleep would suddenly be a thing of the past.  Lately, you’ve been struggling to sleep more than 5 or 6 hours consecutively.  You’ve been staying up later at night and still waking up in the early pre-dawn hours.  As soon as either your father or I take you out of your crib, you almost always snuggle up and put your head on our shoulder and fall back asleep.  But if we try to put you back down, like landing gear on a plane your arms and legs drop down so you land propped up already, rock back to sitting and look up at us and start to cry.  As such, your father has mastered the fine art of sleeping on the couch with you on his chest. 


On what I am to assume is not an entirely unrelated note, this month has also brought you another tooth.  Your first tooth broke through just before you turned 10 months old.  Since then, that tooth has shot right up and its neighbor decided to join the party.  Unfortunately, said neighbor tooth brought with him a bout of restlessness, crankiness, fever and general misery.  Just be grateful that teething is one of those things that nature has decided you don’t need to remember. 


The last few months you’ve been talking more and more.  You haven’t said any identifiable words yet, but your favorite phrase seems to be ma-ma-ma-ma-ma.  I’m still not certain if you have associated that with me, but I respond to every ma-ma-ma-ma-ma like you’re calling my name.  You definitely know to look for me when Daddy asks you where Mommy is.  I’m looking forward to the day you look right at me and say Mama.  Until then, I’m happy with whatever you want to call me.




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