Month Nine

Dear RR,

Yes, it’s true that you still don’t have a single tooth.  Let’s just get that all out in the open.  I don’t even think you’re thinking about getting a tooth.

You are, however, thinking about crawling… a lot.  You’re actually doing something about it, too!  This week, the teachers at your school said that you joined the “I can scoot backward underneath the cribs” club, which is exciting.  You’re moving a lot.  No, a LOT.  You buck like a bronco on our laps, and fold yourself inwards while squealing with delight when your thrown into the air and brought back down.  (Wait, are we the only ones who throw our baby in the air??)  You like to be dangled upside down, and tossed into the down comforter on the bed.  You think

Sleep-wise, you hit a slump there this last month, but I think you’ve recovered.  We spent many (MANY) nights getting up a couple of times when you rolled yourself over to your stomach and got stuck and OMG IT WAS THE END OF THE WORLD.  This morning, though, you slept from 7pm-6:30am, and when I went into the nursery this morning, you were on your stomach, head turned, butt up in the air.  Like a normal non-apocalyptic baby.

This month, you’re eating about the same, and have branched out into eating (though not necessarily enjoying) such things as tofu, apricots, and watermelon.  Your mom makes 98% of your food, because she’s amazing like that.  You also have no idea how to work a sippy cup (even the training ones) but you LOVE your silver baby cup with your name engraved on the side. (Yes… you have a silver baby cup.  And a silver rattle.  They were gifts, and… well, they’re both two of your favorite things).  We like to put water in it and help you drink.  If, by drink, we mean, watch you stick your whole mouth and tongue in it, while trying to catch some in your mouth, then yes.  Drink.

Your Wyoming grandparents are in town as we speak, kid.  Grandpa made a rocking horse for you with your name carved in the bottom of it, which is a most wonderful present.  You even sat on it and held the handles, with your mom’s help.  It’s day three, and perhaps today, you’ll let one of them hold you without crying (you, not them).  We can only hope.

RR, you are amazing.  Plain and simple.  You are adorable with your pouty lip, your big eyes, and your soft sheen of shiny strawberry blonde hair.  With your toothless grin, your chubby thighs, and your general attractiveness in pastel colors, I couldn’t have asked for a more beautiful daughter.  I think it’s important to tell you how beautiful you are, RR.  My dad (well, your other Grandpa) died when I was only 11.  One day, I found a birthday card he wrote for me on my tenth birthday saying how beautiful I was and how much he enjoyed watching me play guitar.  I still have that card, you know.  Because it’s important to be told that you’re beautiful, no matter how old you are.



Posted on March 25, 2011, in letters to rr. Bookmark the permalink. 1 Comment.

  1. Beautiful letter.

    My kiddos are still toothless and horrified by strangers too. Nice to know we are not alone.

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