Sunday, July 20, 2008

Jack's Monthly Newsletter, Month Eight

Dear Jack,

There you were, charting your own slow course, chilling out, letting your brother be the go-getter. No teeth, no sitting up, no crawling. Doing things your own way.

Not anymore. In the blink of an eye, in the span of weeks, you're an entirely different baby. You're sitting up perfectly, reaching for toys and never tipping. You can go from sitting straight to crawling, and right back to sitting when you've gotten where you want to go. Within days of crawling, you were pulling yourself up to your knees and now you're pulling yourself up to standing. One tooth through, one right behind. A river of drool precedes them. I don't even know who you are anymore.

For about 4 days after you started with all of this, life got really sweet for me. I could plunk you in the living room surrounded by toys, and you'd occupy yourself for quite a while. You are so funny and deliberate sometimes: you'll pick up a toy, turn it over and over and around, and then give it a taste test before the earnest chewing and sucking begins. Anywhoo, so you'd sit and be quiet while I did fascinating things like clean up the table, empty the dishwasher, or clean cheerios off of the floor. It was nice.

But you've gotten too big for your britches, and you're all over the place now. Trying to throw yourself down the stairs, pull Daddy's bike down on your head, and bonk yourself on every available sharp corner and edge that can be found.

(What I especially like about this photo is all of the safe, fun toys are off to the side while you try to chew on (and do eventually crack yourself on) the edge of the entertainment center.) We've gotta babyproof better. Your brother was so active, but he was never into things the way you're already getting into things. You are rarely still. When you're sitting, your hands are moving, moving, moving. It's nearly impossible to get a shot that's not a little blurry. Please go easy on us, okay?

I adore you. You're a wonderful baby, other than the not-sleeping-through-the-night thing, which we won't go into right now. You are truly wonderful in the car - I can't think of the last time you cried. I just plunk you in with a bunch of chew toys and get such a kick out of watching you pick them up, examine them, and spend a little quality time chewing on them one by one. You smile constantly, laugh easily, and hug your little arms around my neck. You crane around to see Nate or Daddy when you hear them come into the room. I can't wait to see you dive into the rest of your life.


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