Sweetheart, you are ten months old today. We're already thinking about your first birthday party (which makes me a lunatic) and I'm excited to play outside on the swing set this spring. But these moments right now are awesome, watching you become the little person you will be.
Nothing is safe anymore. I blink and you slingshot yourself across the room, giggling. A few weeks ago, I was trying to entice you to creep across your bedroom floor, but now you are unstoppable. I've never seen a critter scuttle with the kind of awkward intensity you possess, and the fact that even if you end up fumbling and headbutting the floor, you're still up and moving forward in a matter of seconds. I think your forehead is made of steel. Or whatever material super bouncy balls are made of.
And despite the pile of toys in the basket in the living room, you want to play with the Forbidden Items: The remote, my pump, the outlets, and my cell phone. Even if I pour the entire bucket of wooden blocks onto the floor and they make that lovely wood-against-wood clattering sound, your head whips around if the cell phone lights up and you're off to try to lick it. God forbid I try to bolus in your presence; you're mouth pouts into a perfect "O" as you reach for the awesome beeping machine. (Usually scoring a grip on the tubing and flapping it around while you laugh and say "bababa.")
Your vocal stylings continue to impress me, my lovely bird. You've figured out just what that baby monitor camera does, and in the wee hours of the morning, Daddy and I hear you starting to stir in your crib. "Bah bah bah." And then we look at the video monitor screen and see you staring intently back at us, opening your little rosebud mouth to carefully and clearly say "Dada." At which point, Chris sighs and smiles and says, "I'll get her." And then I am quietly thankful that you don't quite say "Mama" with such clarity yet.
I'm not sure when it's going to happen, but I see walking in our near future. Which is terrifying, because when you stand up on your chubby little legs, it amazes me that you're still such a pipsqueak. We were just at the pediatrician two weeks ago and you are still on the peanut side, but like a peanut with leg and belly rolls. (Basically, you look freshly baked and I think if I poke you in the belly, you will say "hee hee!") But we're ready, with the child-proofing in full swing here at home.
And, like your mama, you love books. But while I'm more of a reader, you let us know you favor a certain volume by trying to eat it. "All the hippos go berserk!" I read out loud, and you clap your hands and then try to chompy on the pages. You love being read to, and you love doing your own version of reading, as well. (But I love the look of grown up concentration when you hold the book on your own, furrow your brow, and turn the pages with practiced ease. With the book upside down.)
You make everything feel like it's new and shiny and covered in sticky fingerprints, and I love you more than I ever thought possible.