Friday, July 31, 2009

Month 13, A Review

Dear Phoebe,

About 6 years ago, you turned 13 months old. I know, I know. Enough with the excuses already. But I like to imagine that by the time you're reading this, you won't mind that it's 10 (yikes, 11) ((oops, 12)) (((okay, 14))) days late.

If you do, I will remind you of all the phone calls and emails I had to endure during the 8 days you were "late" past your due date, but you'll probably just roll your eyes and go "Be quiet, MOM! I'm reading!"

At your 1 year checkup, we learned that you are still in the 95th percentile for length (at 31 inches long) and for weight ... well ... the form actually reads: "<3%". There's a "less than" sign. You're 17.6 lbs. You gained one whole ounce from the previous appointment you had prior to surgery. You're just a skinny baby, but it works out nicely because you can still wear some of your 6 month size clothes, and yet you can also wear the 12 - 18 month clothes you got for your birthday.

Lately your dad and I have been trying to fatten you up by feeding you "strawberry yogurt" each night. And by "yogurt" we mean "ice cream", but for some reason we think if we just call it ice cream you'll get the (correct) idea that ice cream before bed is awesome and so we call it "yogurt" in order to make you think it's healthy. You'll thank me in your late 20s if our weird psychology works.

The big news in the past month is that you (FINALLY!) pulled yourself up to stand. What made you do it? Lola, resting peacefully on the sofa. You just couldn't stand that the dog was laying there, up out of your reach, so you pulled yourself up to "pat pat pat" her on the head. Your dad and I couldn't believe it! We applauded! We cheered!

And then you feel down on your butt.

And that was the end of that.

We've been trying to prop you up to stand more often to strengthen your legs and get you familiar with the concept, and you stand for a few seconds before falling over. At this point we're really hoping you're going to walk across the stage at your high school graduation and not make one of us carry you. We're gonna be OLD by then, Phoebe, and I don't think our backs will be able to handle it.

We took you to the dog park on Sunday and you just sat in the grass with dad and played with all the sticks and leaves and dog poop you could handle. You didn't really play with dog poop, but your dad did accidentally put his hand in some. Someday we'll tell you about the legacy that is men in your dad's family handling poop with their bare hands.

And then recounting the story at the dinner table.

All. The. Time.

But what amazed us both is that you are so content to just sit still and play. You love looking at the world around you. When we go to the dog park you always want to touch the leaves in the trees. Your dad is convinced you're going to be a biologist (like him). I'm starting to believe him. In one of your new books, you immediately gravitated toward the photo of the froggie. You love that picture. You try to pet the froggie by running your hand down the page. It's so sweet. Much to my horror, your dad is promising to get a frog or a toad as a household pet.

That pet is gonna stay in your room and you and your dad can have all the fun you want with it.

Your new fascination is with everything in the cupboards and drawers in the kitchen. What you love to do is open a drawer, then close it, leaving a finger (or 5) in the drawer. You continue pressing on the drawer, keeping it closed, but cry because your other hand is stuck in it and -- hey -- that hurts!

You have not yet figured out cause and effect, but I guess I shouldn't get my hopes up that you will anytime soon as I'm pretty sure I didn't learn my actions have consequences until, oh, 5 years ago. Or, really, when I saw the word "Pregnant" on the stick back on October 3, 2007.

Because I started working again on Saturday and Sunday nights, you've been spending a lot of time with dad. I think both of you are really enjoying it. I love hearing your dad tell me all the things you did when I get home, which is long after you've gone to sleep.

Life pretty much continues as its always does. You get into things. I put them away while you're not looking. You crawl over, see that things are put away, and take them out again. It's been a hot summer with no air conditioning so we have spent a lot of time indoors out of the heat. Occasionally you and I will go to Morro Bay to cool off, but mostly we have been staying home.

You look so cute in your crib wearing only your diaper. When I go in to get you in the morning, you look so impossibly long and skinny, and when I hold you now I am starting to notice how less like a baby you're becoming and how much like a little girl. I do NOT remember putting through the approval for that to happen. But I guess it's inevitable.

Keeping up with you has definitely kept me busy (and tired). I love interacting with you, but you have a LOT more energy than your old mom! (I can say that, because as of last Friday I am now 31 years old).

We went to Bakersfield a few weeks ago to help your grandma with her yard sale, and got the chance to visit with Jocelyn and Maguire (who, for some reason, was still awake at 8 o'clock). You were in LOVE with Maguire. You were crawling around, chasing him, trying to give him kisses. It was so cute to watch you be so fascinated with another baby your age.

Every day brings a new chance to try and see the world through your eyes. Your dad and I love trying to figure you out and see what makes you tick. Why do you LOVE bananas all of a sudden? Why are you OBSESSED with watching us go to the bathroom!?

Someday you're going to be a teenager and you're probably going to be all "YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND ME!" and I'm just going to roll my eyes and go "You have no idea how well I understand you".

I like to think (like many parents who have gone before me) that you'll never feel that way.

I am going to try my best to make sure you don't.


1 comment:

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