You are ten months. Ten. It was probably when you were around ten days that it first hit me how fast this roller coaster journey was already going. Well it keeps speeding up.
There were, of course, hours and even days when it felt like time was crawling by. In those first three months, when we pounded the pavements, paced the hallway, rocked, and shushed, and sang and cried with you in the evening and night time hours, sometimes it felt like time was going very slowly indeed.
But suddenly here you are. Into double figure months. You even look grown up. Your face is getting older, your eyes more knowing. They’re not only inquisitive, but they’re searching, questioning too. Sometimes they want answers. What is this new place? Is it ok? Who are these people? You’re staying with me, right? Sometimes they are cheeky. Like when you open the cupboard in the corner and turn around and look at me for a reaction before trying to pull all the records out. It’s a fleeting ‘look at me, look what I’m doing, hehehehe’ look. I love it.
You know what ‘no’ means. It means I’ll pick you up and take you away from the plant you’ve pulled the leaves off. It means you’ll try and pull them off again but next time you’ll give me that cheeky look first.
You’ve been crawling for a month, and you’re a speedy little four-limbed creature. You skid around the wooden floors, preferring them to the big rug which just slows you down. As soon as a door is opened you have to crawl through the entrance way into the next room. Just to see what’s out there. What have we been hiding from you? Half way between rooms you turn around and look – just to check we’re watching you go.
You love crawling on the tiles in the bathroom, and then watching the toilet flush, and seeing yourself in the mirror. Except you get all shy and bury your head in my shoulder from that smiling baby looking back at you.
A couple of times, we’ve turned around and looked back to find you suddenly standing up. You can pull yourself up on the shelves of the change table, and you’re trying to stand up against whatever you can find that looks like the right height. If I hold your hands and let you pull yourself up onto your feet you look so pleased with yourself. Look at me, your eyes say. And then slowly, gingerly, you work your way back down.
Because you are cautious, about where you go, what you touch, what you do, where we are. You need cuddles, often, and kisses and raspberries, and giggles and tickles. Your toys are just fine too, but exploring all the grown up stuff is way more fun.
Happy ten months Little Mister. You’re amazing. X