Don't look now, but…

(N.B.: This post contains way too many (approx. half-a-billion) pictures, because I didn’t post for three months and I had a lot of catching up to do. People who read via the RSS feed, if you’re lucky, the feed will use the cut tag I inserted in the middle of the post, but if not, I’m sorry if your reader sucks down such a long entry. So sue me.)

Dearest Torsten,

Mama has really sucked the last few months and didn’t finish her seven- or eight-month updates. Part of this is because we were in Europe with minimal internet access, but most of it is because I’ve been just so busy with a certain Mr. T to get them finished. I’m not going to try to take too many bits and pieces from what I did write, because it seems a bit silly now, but what I can say is you have blossomed since my last letter to you.

Seriously – wow, have things changed. Two months ago, you were only sort of able to roll around and rotate on the ground to get to things, and it was mostly random. Even at eight months, when we were just leaving for Europe, you seemed to be only minutes from crawling, but still hadn’t managed to get any forward momentum.

But then… then Mama took off to London for five days. And when I came back, you came crawling across your grandparents’ floor, squealing with delight that it was Mama and that you could get to her all by yourself.

And then, oh boy, was it ever on.

(If there’s no more text showing after this, click on “Read more” below (if it appears) or the link to the original post to continue reading this entry…)

Now you zip across the room, pull yourself up on whatever is convenient, and walk around cruising the furniture, often forgetting to hold on and giggling the whole way. You pull things down to see how they work (you are obsessed with wheels and all things mechanical), you shake things if they won’t move and are in your way, and you use anything you can find to pull yourself up on if you are inclined to stand (such as Mama’s hair and her nose). You walk with help and get better every day with it, and are often to be found walking around your crib staring at the sleepy adults in the early morning, smiling your huge beautiful smile when you see we’re awake and reaching up to be picked up for a hug. You squeal with delight at that first morning snuggle, and while I hate getting up, I absolutely love your joy.

You’re no longer our little baby – in fact, you look a whole lot like a two-year old in size, and people go nuts when they realize you’re not even a year. It’s all genetics, so we’re not worried, but you are a big guy.

A big cute guy, I might add.

Still, you’re in the 95th+ percentile for everything but weight (you’re still, regardless of what your fat-obsessed grandmother in her expert medical opinion has decided, right at the 50th percentile of the CDC height vs. weight curve, and you are perrrfectly healthy!), but completely proportional, so people just don’t believe you’re only nine months old. It makes buying clothes hard, and it’s sad because you physically outgrow age-appropriate toys too quickly (the beloved jumperoo had to go when we returned from Europe), but otherwise, except for Mama’s back, your height isn’t an issue at all. Look at it this way – you can ride roller coasters with Mama way before the other kids

You also have a knack for charming the ladies that I fear will come back and bite us. Not only do grandmothers everywhere gravitate toward you (regardless of where they come from or who they are, I might add – you got a run-by kissing from some weird old woman in the Dortmund train station that seriously freaked Mama out), but all the little girls (and quite a few of the little boys) think you’re awesome just because of your pretty big eyes and really want you to play, even though you don’t know how to chase and run and play with them yet.

Truth be told, I know I’m biased, but you are a beautiful little guy, and that makes me a little creeped by some of the people who decide they simply must be near you (especially on the bus – weird old men who are fascinated by you are not cordially invited to sit next to me). I understand the compulsion though – you’re not only cute, but you have a bright, sunny, hilarious personality, and you laugh with your whole heart, even when it’s just because a couple of ladies near you are having a conversation. It’s amazing to see people who mean to be dour and removed walk past you and break into smiles in spite of themselves. It’s really cool, actually, and it makes me miss you so much when you’re not around, even when I’m desperate for a break.

Let’s see… what else… You’re still teething, although those bottom teeth are finally on their way in. Papa and I were in no hurry to see you have teeth – we both got ours quite late – but you’ve been in pain for months, and those guys have been slow to come in. Soon you’ll have Teeth of Chomping™ (+2,+2), and I suspect we’ll all be happier for it, even if miserable for you counts as a good day for many other babies’ countenances.

You took your first big trip ever in July and August as well, flying from Denver to Munich to Helsinki, and then taking the train all over northern Europe before flying back to the U.S. You did amazingly well (and on the way back, much better than Mama and Papa did), and all I can say is that you appear to be a Travel Baby. You charmed all of the Lufthansa staff (and by the way, to anyone who has to fly overseas with a baby, fly Lufthansa and ask for a bassinet/seats in the infant row – the staff were amazing to us and the bassinet was a lifesaver, unlike the situation and staff at United…), slept almost the whole way overseas, flirted with other babies on the plane, and generally enjoyed yourself everywhere. You did look a little overwhelmed sometimes, but for the most part, you were great – and I think you had a great time. I certainly had a great time with you, and the German relatives appear to all be in love with you, which is great – the more love you get, the better How could anyone not love you?

So much has gone on that it’s hard to remember it all. You love to talk and sing, especially when the stroller is going over bumpy ground. You sing “la la la la la la” when you’re happy, shake your head and say “nonononono or neinneinneinneinnein” (or variations thereof) when you don’t want something or are being silly, and have said “Yes” at least once when I told you you couldn’t have something you wanted. “Mamamamama” has been a constant staple for a while now, and increasingly actually means me (or occasionally something else you want), and “bababababa” sometimes means Papa, sometimes means bottle, and sometimes means nothing at all. Given that you’re growing up bilingual, I’m sure there’s a lot I won’t notice as easily, but that’s fine, the German half is Papa’s job Not that we’re expecting words yet anyway, but it’s still cool

The best talking story of course is when one of Oma’s friends asked if she could steal you and take you home and you shook your head and said a very clear, “Nein!”. I doubt you understood what she said, but I think you did realize she was going to pick you up. She’s a nice lady and all, but she can’t have you

You are truly a sweet bundle of personality now, and you have a very funny sense of humor. You know how to make us laugh, and you delight in doing it. You also know how to let us know when something doesn’t suit you, even if you sometimes let us know that by crying at something that doesn’t directly impact you (like, for example, the ceiling fan not moving – you only do this when you’re very tired, but it’s still funny).

Looking back at your pictures, a lot has happened in the last three months.

We celebrated your first Father’s Day:

And Papa had a whole week away from us, which exhausted us both:

You went from pushing up and rolling just a little on the floor at six months…

To scooting all over the floor at around eight months…

To sitting up all on your own and crawling at nine months.

You occasionally try to feed yourself while Mama’s back is turned,

and you want to eat whatever we eat.

You love, love, love to read books (especially Rainbow Rob, which makes you squeal with glee), and you can now turn the pages for Mama with a little help.

You and Mama have stormed your first castle…

Taken your first long-distance train rides…

Sailed on a big boat in the ocean…

Gone swimming (sort of) in a Swedish lake…

Visited Mama’s faaaaavorite park in her faaaaaavorite city in the world…

Travelled the world…

And basically become a huge, wonderful little boy who almost isn’t a baby anymore.

My old au-pair friend Anna, whose middle child just turned eight, told me not to blink.

I can totally see where she’s coming from.

I love you!

- Mama

Tags: baby, family, Torsten, travel

This entry was posted on Sunday, October 5th, 2008 at 22:13 and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.