Dear Jude,
This final entry will conclude my ongoing series of thoughts, ramblings and notes to you. I don't think that anything can quite prepare a parent for that first year of a child's life: the triumphs, the frustrations, the loneliness and the sense of humbling love and awe.
At times the early months felt endless, especially during the sleepless nights and continuous feedings, however, in retrospect it felt like it was just yesterday I was cradling your semi-bald head as your eyes glazed over, dilated, before dozing off into a blissful cat-nap.
Now, you're a streak of bottomless energy and you always manage to explore just about everything: the dishwasher, the recycling bin (you have a penchant for pretending to chug empty gallons of milk), Mommy's purse, all the nifty shampoos lined up on the bathtub, the toilet bowl water (yuck), anything I'm cooking, the refrigerator and even the innards of the fireplace.
Your first steps took place at the Kongslie's house on Sunday, January 18th when you decided to take it upon yourself to walk over to where I was holding some sort of ceramic cat. Nobody prompted you: you just decided to do it all by yourself.
Now, when I try to hold you up by your arms, prompting your feet to cooperate into walking mode, you usually scream and resort to crawling. I've learned that you like doing things according to your own will, not those of anyone else.
Other times, you grab the cordless phone only to utter, "Hiiiiiiiii" into the mouthpiece. You then proceed to press as many buttons simultaneously as possible, rending the poor person on the line nearly deaf.
I love your sense of independence already evident at just a year old. You don't like being told what to do (surprise, surprise) but your sense of self is also closely identified with us, your parents. Many a morning I wake to your arms stretched around my shoulders, cheek mashed up against mine, like a baby octopus. I listen to the sucking sounds as you work the binky, then you push yourself up and look into my eyes before offering me the plug. So loving.
Recently, you've also discovered how much fun it is to have control of objects that open and close, like a door. You love shutting the bedroom door, only to open it a moment later, hysterical with laughter over what an amazing feat you pulled off!
Your laughter begins low in your belly and bubbles its way up into your throat and out your mouth. I could subsist on your laughter alone were it edible.
You are not one for being alone, however, if you're engaged in either eating or an interesting activity involving water, you're entertained for quite some time. It’s entertaining watching you push your cart around the apartment, as you prefer to not bend your legs.
When you're studying something, you like to stare, your eyebrows furrowed, mouth slightly ajar. Then, you move towards the object and try to make-out with it. You may have to tone this befriending tactic down once you’re in kindergarten.
You enjoy surrounding yourself by other babies and doting adults. You're the class clown, according to the teachers at your Montessori school.
The days of formula behind us, you’re capable of consuming entire meals, milk out of a sippy cup all while sitting in a big-boy chair, not just a high-chair.
For the first time, I paid full fare for you at the Children’s Museum, as you’ve surpassed the one-year mark.
Each day, I feel you inching closer towards independence: walking today, running tomorrow, driving in years to come. Sometimes at night, once you’re deep in dreamland, I cuddle your limber body and feel your baby breath on my arm as I kiss your beautiful golden curls. You’re teaching me everyday about love, compassion and trust…and not to be fearful of a little toilet bowl water.
I love you from the bottom of my heart.
Love,
Your Proud Mama
