Tag Archives: baby pix

Dearest Hatchling,
On Monday, you turned a whopping eight months old. This is a great age to experience your first Christmas, because a) you won’t remember any of it, so we can ask for lots of boring stuff like clothes and safety gates for presents, b) you’re not crawling yet, so the tree and ornaments and candles are safe from your imprecations, and c) you’ll be thrilled just to rip at wrapping paper and play with ribbons on Christmas morning. Much like the cats. Hm. Anyway, I have to admit that I’m looking forward to opening your gifts much more than my own, since they’re virtually guaranteed to be cuter.

Speaking of cuter, you are. We went to a very chi-chi mall today for lunch, and flirty doesn’t even begin to describe your behavior with all the wealthy matrons and less wealthy nannies populating the stores. I mean, really, it was shameless. You don’t just give out smiles to anybody, of course; you make them work for it. They coo and make funny faces and tell you how pretty your blue eyes are, and only when you deem their attitude to be appropriately worshipful do you bestow a slow, huge, toothy grin on them, thereby making their hearts explode. You also have a new trick of reaching out one or both arms towards the receiver of the smile, which makes it all the more endearing.

On the flip side, you’re also in the throes of separation anxiety, which makes it extremely difficult for your Mamala to do anything without you. As long as you’re in my arms or right next to me, you’re a veritable social butterfly. But as soon as I leave your sight, or – god forbid – abandon you to the care of an adoring babysitter, you just lose it. The height of this behavior so far came last night when we had to drop your grandparents off at the airport. You’d been perfectly amiable all day and seemed OK with getting into your carseat. But as soon as I closed your door and hopped into the drivers’ seat, it was as though someone was sticking red hot needles into your eyeballs or something. I mean, you just LOST it. Your poor Oma, who was sitting in back with you, tried everything she could think of to calm you down, but you weren’t having any of it. You cried so hard you threw up your supper all over yourself (which didn’t help matters any) and you kept twisting and turning to try and see me in the front seat – no easy feat from a rear-facing car seat. You were so beside yourself we thought maybe there was something else wrong, like something poking you or a sudden earache or something. But no; as soon as we got to the airport and I took you out of your seat for a little cuddle, you were completely fine – it was like flipping an “off” switch. You gave your grandparents a watery good-bye smile, we packed you back into the car, and you happily babbled and cooed all the way home. Little stinker.

In general, though, you remain highly satisfactory. Sometimes your father and I can’t even believe how rough the first three months were, because now? Now you’re like an advertisement for having kids or something. I mean, really: you’re SO GOOD almost all of the time. You’re extremely good-tempered and happy; you’re beyond patient when it comes to running errands or other outings; you’re sweet and smiley with other people, and you’re interested in pretty much everything. One of your most entrancing habits right now is that of chuckling whenever you see something new or exciting. The cat jumps up on the sofa: chuckle. A school bus drives by the window: chuckle. We went to a wonderful kids’ book store that has live chickens (among other animals) walking around, and you thought those were just about the neatest things you’d ever seen. (Or, more likely, the weirdest looking cats you’d ever seen.) They were chuckletastic.

You’re still growing like a maniac; it’s a good thing Christmas is coming because almost NONE of your clothes fit you anymore. You’re particularly short (heh, punny) on sleepers – I tried putting you in one last night that said it was for 6-9 month old babies, but they must have been referring to amputee babies because we could get either your legs or your arms in, but not both. An old lady at the vet’s the other day asked if you were a boy (a common occurence, irrespective of the pinkness and beflowerment of your typical outfit) and when I said, no, a girl, almost 8 months, the woman said “My, she’s husky!” To me this word invokes images of hairy, muscle-bound, steroid-saturated hockey players, which is hardly an accurate description of you, but I can hardly deny that you’re generously proportioned for your age. Sometimes I call you my Amazon baby, and you’re certainly strong in both mind and body. Happily, you’re also cuddly and sweet and have not as yet indicated any desire to cut off one of your breasts (though you have tried on several occasions to twist my nipples off). Can’t wait to see what the next month brings.

Love,
Mamala

Dearest Hatchling,

This last weekend, you turned seven months old. They say seven is a lucky number, and it must be true where babies are concerned, because this definitely feels like the golden time of your infancy. You’re still cuddly and sweet, and you haven’t yet introduced us to the terrors of having a mobile child, but you’re learning new tricks all the time and getting independent enough to entertain yourself – and us – more and more.

You haven’t indicated any interest in crawling yet, but you sure do like to have us walk you around the room. It didn’t take you long at all to get the hang of the one-foot-in-front-of-the-other shtick, and if your balance is a little nonexistent, you more than make up for it with the huge smile and coos that tell us you’re extremely pleased with yourself for figuring this out. You’re also absolutely entranced by your own reflection, so one of your favorite places to “walk” to is the mirror in the living room, where you can lean in and give your reflection an open-mouth baby kiss. Which is so damn cute I just about implode every time you do it.

Speaking of cute, I’d like to go on record right here and now that your besotted parents are not the only ones who think you’re the sweetest little bunch of yumminess since baby fairy penguins. (Seriously: Baby. Fairy. Penguins.) A few weeks ago we were making one of our regular pilgrimages to Babies R Us for numerous items, including a dress for you to wear to your aunt’s wedding in December. While we were there, we stopped by the “Kiddie Kandids” (I know: gag) to see what their prices and packages were like, since we’d been thinking of getting some formal photos done. The staff took one look at your little face and another look at the frock we were getting and said “You have to let us take a picture of your baby in that dress! For free! We’ll give you an 8 x 10!” Half an hour later, you’d done a whole modeling session with set and prop changes and two different outfits. Of course, they knew perfectly well that we’d never walk out of there without several copies of every pose they shot, so they had a slight interest in telling us how cute you were – but it’s also true that I can almost never go anywhere with you without someone stopping me to say that you’re so precious, or pretty, or darling.

We think you’re going to be shy, like I was when I was little. You’re extremely gregarious when it’s just us and the cats at home, or with a few select relatives, but you’re pretty wary of unfamiliar faces. Strangers are more likely to get the inscrutable stare than one of your neon smiles, and if they get too close too fast, tears will be just around the corner. You don’t care too much for anyone but me or your daddy to hold you right now, though you’ll occasionally tolerate the arms of a doting aunt or grandma. But along with being shy, you also already seem to have a sense of politeness. It’s like you know when it’s important to behave, when I have to drag you to a meeting for the theatre company, or when we’re standing in a long line at the airport, or going to a doctor’s appointment. Even if you’re tired and off your schedule, you mostly keep it together until you can get home and have a bottle and a nap. I imagine that this pliancy won’t last once you hit the “terrible twos” but lord knows I’m grateful for it now.

Things you especially love this month: baths – oh, how you love your baths! cookies you can eat by yourself (and by “eat” I mean “apply as a facial”), grabbing the cat in the face, drumming your little hands on your highchair tray, and your nice blue blanket to snuggle. Things you hate: having your face washed, tummy time, changing clothes, and being bored.

You’re growing like crazy both physically (you’re bigger than several one-year-olds we know) and in your personality. You’re developing a fine sense of humor, and a whole new vocabulary of baby sounds, including shrieks that could probably shatter glass and certainly my eardrums. Your whole face lights up when your daddy comes home, and when you’re tired you like to bury your face in my neck and burrow. In short, you’re one highly satisfactory kid. Keep up the good work.

Love,
Mamala