dear peanut {ten months}

 

happy ten months, miss elinor.

i can't even believe that i typed that.  ten.  double digits.  a mere TWO MONTHS until you are a whole year. 

time is going by so quickly and you are changing every day.  less and less like an infant, more and more like a little person.  would you just look at yourself in that picture?  for some reason, you are looking much too old.  it is enough to make me all reminiscent and misty-eyed.  it goes by so quickly.  don't blink.

you are such an independent gal.  you explore all the nooks and crannies of our home - and you prefer to fly solo.  undisturbed and unaccompanied play.  here and there you might glance back at us for approval.  but i happen to think that you just do it to humor us.  thank you, sweet girl.  we live for that stuff.

and oh, your baby babbling.  it is too much.  your current favorite is a steady stream of da-da-da-da.  you play with inflection and volume.  you talk and talk and talk.  effortlessly stringing your sounds together into the sweetest sentences.  you converse with everything.  tables, chairs, the air, your blocks, and your books.  it is so lovely to hear your songs.  i hope that you have an unbridled imagination and entertain us with stories and songs and poems and dramatic anything.

you know what else tickles us?  your obsession with books.  seriously.  just like your papa.  you prefer to be surrounded by an assortment of authors and styles.  little piles of books on the floor so that you can pick and choose in accordance with your every whim.  one day, it is all about brown bear and the next, you want suess.  and when you are in a snuggly mood {rare} you will crawl up on my lap and sit quietly as i read through peter rabbit.  and yes, i always do the voices.  i hope that books are always a comfort and source of pleasure for you.  going on adventures.  meeting characters.  learning new things. 

you are going through a bit of a mama's girl phase at the moment.  you follow me around the house.  you reach out toward me.  you smile.  and you even give me great big hugs and gummy nibble kisses.  oh boy, i sure do love it.  and even if it is just teething-induced, i soak up every second.  right now, you think i'm the bee's knees.  i'll take it.  i know that you won't always feel that way.  soon enough, you will begin to realize that your papa is a big softy for you and you will shift your affinity.  and don't even get me started on the tween years... but  i hope that we are always close.  that we have special times together.  that we can talk and laugh for hours.  these are the dreams of your doting mama.

and lest you think that you are sheer perfection...let's mention a few of your newest quirks that are less than endearing.  dinnertime.  you are so impatient and particular.  sheesh.  once i move into the kitchen to prepare dinner you are all about being right under my feet.  you make to most atrocious squawking bwaaaaahhh sound to get attention.  i know you are there, baby girl.  i see you.  no, mama can't hold you right now.  no, it is not time to eat yet.  it is as if you think i will, a) never hold you again or b) never feed you again.  silly girl.  you rock back and forth on your hands and knees.  you shake your head.  you try to climb up my legs.  and then, once you are plopped in your chair, you smack your tray and smack your lips.  so demanding.  we are working on this.  i am thrilled that you are so excited about meals.  but, relaaaax.  and then there is your new climbing trick.  whenever we sit on the ground, you quickly make your way to the nearest lap.  you look up with those big eyes.  and then you grab onto whatever fabric you can find and pull yourself up.  you momentarily rest there, gripping our shoulders.  a hug!  nope.  a total fake-out hug.  just as our hearts begin to melt and we are filled with parental pride...you reach over our shoulders toward whatever object you are trying to obtain, using our bodies as a springboard.  lovely.  here we are, thinking you are being all sweet and cuddly.  nope.  we are merely means to an end.  your parents are such suckers.  but these suckers sure do think you're swell.

love, love, love,

your mama + your papa