Three quarters turn

Dearest Bella,

Here we are, rocking in your chair, soaking up the rare winter sunbeam through our big living room window as I eat pb and sugar sandwiches and you snooze delightfully away. I may soon lick the peanut butter off my fingers, thus freeing up my left hand to join in typing so that you will have this letter this month, not next.

Each time you finally succumb to the sleep demons, I breathe a sigh of relief since they never take you without a fight. You've learned that shaking your head like the Tasmanian Devil can give you those extra precious seconds of energy that you need when fighting sleep. You know every dirty trick in the Professional Sleep Resister Manual, and employ them with full expertise. Normally I don't mind the entertaining Hour of Resistance, but your second tooth is grinding its way to the surface as we speak and you, my intolerant irritable irksome child, need your sleep.



What can I say about this month? We have gone three quarters the way around the sun, and what a trip it has been. It's hard to imagine all that your 8th month contained, Christmas already seems so far off. You showed us that you're still not a fan of food, snow after snow came down, you met relatives you never knew you had, and spent a week under to doting glow of your grandparents.



A new year has begun and all of those days from the 18th to the 31st have been filed away under 2008, the surface wiped clean. I wonder how long this will last, starting each month on the 18th, disregarding the flip of the calendar page. We can only hope for the sake of my brain that any future siblings will be born on 18ths as well.



This month you have learned that some of the things I ask of you just aren't worth fighting over. In fact, some are downright helpful. I think you're learning this lesson a lot faster than I ever did, and it gives me a great sense of relief. Instead of fighting me, you now raise your head in the tub when I reach to clean out your delightful neck cheese. And although your anemone hands still wave about, they no longer slip out of my grasp like Houdini slathered in butter when I go to grab them to lift you into a stand. In fact, yesterday I held out my hands and you took them, smiled, and helped pull yourself up. I think in that moment the heavens split and may have heard angels singing.



We are on the cusp of so many things. Daddy and I hold our breaths when we watch you reach for items on the floor, you are so close to crawling. You walk around with us now, too, when we hold you by the arms, though sometimes you get so excited you start to tap dance and those happy feet are highly contagious and you break into smiles and wiggles and giggles of all sorts. You've started clapping now, too. And I was astonished just before Christmas when I realized that you were playing peekaboo with me, diving into your pillow, waiting for me to exclaim Peek A Boo! when you shot back up, laughing.



It's been a gray world since the snow melted. Each day grayer than the last, as winters here go. When the sun peeks out from behind the clouds, I strap you on and we dart outside to collect its pale rays. You are my light in this winter, and for the first time ever it is only January and I find myself wishing for warmer days so we can play in the grass and I can push you on a swing, and I can watch you being a kiddo, doing what babies do best. Until then, I'll try my best to be content goofing off with you inside, sharing my knitting, sharing my chores, sharing my love on those dark dreary days.



Love, mama