Dearest Sammie Girl,
Last Sunday, you turned nine months old. Eek! You’re three quarters of the way to a year now—where has the time gone? Part of me can still remember the first few days of meeting you in the hospital and bringing you home and yet the other part of me can’t recall that you ever looked like anything but the happy and bubbly little pre-toddler that you are today. That’s right. Move over, pre-teenage angst. It’s the pre-toddler months that are all the rage amongst the gymboree set these days.
Truthfully, as quickly as the time’s gone by, I wouldn’t have believed that we really have lived through these past nine months if it weren’t for the weekly Thursday letters I’ve been writing of your progress. This past weekend, Nonni showed me the baby book she had lovingly filled out during the first few years of my life. I was a little embarrassed to tell her that I hadn’t even STARTED on your baby book, because there just hasn’t been the time (although I plan on getting several scrapbooking days scheduled in during next month’s spring break. Hopefully). I guess this blog has proven to be the next best thing. I may not have every last breakthrough and detail down in a purty little book with frolicking bunnies on the cover, but at least I’ve got this blog, where I can look back to this past July and see just how much you weighed and what you were up to when we went to Disneyland.
But let’s forget about the past for a second and focus on where you are right now. Well, technically, right now you should be just starting to wake up in your crib and babbling on about life’s complexities while your father keeps his eyes on the baby monitor as he desperately tries to cling on to a few more minutes of sleep. I, on the other hand, am two miles away in my classroom at school, blissfully typing away as I enjoy my empty room during the last foggy day schedule for the 2009-2010 school year.
It’s amazing what can change and happen in the life of a nine month old in the course of a week. In a mere seven days, you’ve: perfected rolling over and changing direction, mastered raising your hands on cue to “How big are you?,” gone on a whirlwind trip to the nearby mountains to see your very first snowfall, met up with all of the babies in the Willis clan, turned nine months, gotten over your first nasty cold, gone to the pediatrician, learned the joys of sleeping on your tummy and had the latest rounds of professional pictures taken.
If you need to stop for a minute because your head is spinning, feel free. It was one of those merry-go-round weeks, after all.
Let’s take this one step at a time.
The rolling over to get where you want to go thing. You’ve been doing it for a mere two weeks, and with each day that passes you get a little faster and more adept at it. Lately, you’ve perfected the art of rolling over by adding to it a new skill that I like to call the Lazy Susan. Simply put, when you want to change direction, you stick your belly out and, using your hands, spin your body in a circle.
The “How Big Are You” thing was learned last Saturday and your father and I haven’t stopped laughing ever since. You spent the night with Nonni and Poppa on Friday night, and by the time you came back home on Saturday afternoon, you were raising your hands in the air and squealing with glee. Your Nonni swears she just did it with you a couple of times, but something must’ve clicked because anytime* we ask “How Big Are You?” you obligingly raise your hands to the heavens and wait for the choruses of “SOOOO big!” while your father and I look at each other and bust a gut. The asterisk* after the word “anytime” above is a legal disclaimer, because you do not perform this trick in front of larger crowds or when food’s around.
I tried to get a picture of it WITH you smiling, but all I ended up with was this:
The Shaver trip thing was a last minute idea of your father’s. Basically it went something like this:
Daddy: Want to go to Shaver for pizza?
Mommy: Really? It’s 5:15 already—won’t it be dark?
Daddy: Nah, we should be ok.
Mommy: Want to invite Beth and Tom?
Daddy: Sure, that sounds like fun. I’ll go hop in the shower.
*insert sound effects here of mommy & daddy racing around the house, making phone calls and getting you ready for a quick trip to the snow and hopping in the car*
Two hours later, we made it up the hill, all the while singing our way up the four lane road to keep a certain cranky baby quiet. Then it started snowing. Which is cool for all of a minute until you realize that the car doesn’t have snow chains and no one had packed to spend the night should we get snowed in. Fast forward another hour, and the four of us had devoured our pizza (you noshed on Cherrios), taken pictures of you in the falling snow (note to self: bring a jacket & hat anytime you take a baby to the snow—I lost mom points there), and ran back to the car in an effort to try to make it back down the mountain before the snow got much deeper and we were stuck on the side of the road for all of eternity. In the end, we made it back to town safely, trading in our crackling voices singing for an i-phone with a miraculous application for babies that kept you entertained while I sat there amazed at your insane fine-motor skills (seriously, you were putting your finger to the screen and opening and closing the barn doors on that phone like a 2 year old).
At least we got some good pictures out of it:
...I managed to snap this one just before we got into the car:
The next day, you turned nine months old and we skipped church (on account of your runny nose, more on that later). Then came the
Willis Baby Thing. We headed over on a much safer trip to Clovis to celebrate Great-Grandma and Grandpa Willis’ 60th anniversary. It’s insane how quickly a family can grow when four babies are born in the span of nine months. You spent the good part of the first hour sitting on the floor with your cousin Kylie and watching in amazement as she took YOUR toys and *gasp* played with them. Hmmm…maybe it’s time to work on your social skills a little. I realize you’re too young to understand the concept of sharing, but maybe we can work on pretending that you know how to share when large masses of family are around. The second half of the event was spent with me (and many other people) trying to get you to wave your arms in the air to the cue of “How Big Are You?” As you might have guessed by the earlier asterisk, that didn’t happen. Rather, you waited until all but four people had left before you happily shoved your fists upward and wondered what all of the fuss was about.
Fortunately for all involved, you were over
the cold thing. Sunday was the first day that you were feeling back to normal. Prior to that, you were battling a nasty case of runny-nose-itis. It manifested itself shortly after I finished the play a few weeks ago, when, right on schedule, I got sick with a cold (I always get sick right after finishing a show— but, by the time you’re old enough to read this, you probably know that). Unable to keep myself from hugging you tight and kissing your chubby little cheeks, I gave you the gift of your first *real* sickness. Sadly, we spent the next week and a half giving each other our colds, until finally I couldn’t take it anymore: the sight of hearing you breathing heavily through your nose and seeing the snot running out of your nose was breaking my heart (and kind of grossing me out). I called the pediatrician’s office, took the nurse’s advice, and bought you saline drops. That little white bottle of saline spray is worth its weight in gold, because in a matter of minutes your nostril fountain turned off and you were able to breathe through your nose once again.
A few days later came the
well-child check up thing. For the first time, I wasn't able to go (I was teaching at the time) so your daddy took you into the pediatrician’s office for visit. Your Nonni tagged along so I could hear the full scoop later on (I love your father, but remembering and reciting back important details is not his gift). This is what we found out: you currently are weighing in at a whopping 21 pounds 2 ounces and have grown a whole inch since our last visit (you’re now 27.5 inches long). We should keep feeding you all of the foods that we have been, but disregard what the doctor-issued feeding chart says regarding juice (Still-the-Best-Pediatrician-in-the-World referred to juice as the gateway drug to soda—*gasp*). Fortunately, we had only been giving you juice twice a week or so. Your fine motor skills are very advanced for your age (hence why you mastered the iphone so quickly) but your gross motor skills are just average (hence why you’re not crawling just yet—even though you’re AAALMOSTthere). Your immune system is also remarkably healthy if you’ve just now received and recovered from your first illness. While most babies your age have teeth by now, it’s not a concern that you’re still all gums so long as you get your first teeth right around the year mark (although STBPITW said that it won’t be that long because she felt your gums and teeth are VERY close to peeping through). The visit culminated in the first round of the H1N1 flu vaccination. Bottom line: you’re healthy and developing at a pace that’s right for you.
I’ll just skip to the next thing without even trying to do a transition sentence because frankly, I have no idea how to transition from a successful pediatrician’s visit to musing about how you’re now doing the
sleeping on your tummy thing. Oh, wait. I think I just did write a transition sentence. The former English teacher in me is pleased with myself. Pats on the back aside, as I just mentioned, you’ve discovered the joys of sleeping through the night on your tummy. You’ve always been a sleep on your back kind of a girl (which is what we wanted because of the whole risk factor involved with newborns sleeping on their tummies). Over the past few nights, though, I’ve watched you through your baby monitor—I long ago gave up on trying to tiptoe into your room to watch you sleep because apparently I’m a loud door opener and walker because EVERY time I woke you up. You’ll start off sleeping on your back (as usual), and about the time I go to bed, I look over on the nightstand and see you on the monitor, flipping to your side and then your tummy. Come morning, you’re still on your tummy, looking as content as can be.
It’s a good thing you’re getting all of that good sleep because yesterday your Grandma Max and I schlepped you off to Visalia for
the picture thing. It was your turn to get the third round of professional pictures taken…and kid, you’re a pro. The photographer even commented about how you take pictures like an adult: you save your smiles for when the camera comes out. We got pictures of the two of us, pictures of you and Grandma Max, pictures of you with the various blankets people made for you (and yes, Tamara, because I know you’re my ONE faithful reader, we took a picture of her with the blanket you made for her), pictures of you in your Easter dress playing with necklaces, pictures of you in the cute ladybug top, and finally, pictures of you in your red coat and hat standing up and peering over a chair. Hopefully, we got at least one decent picture from each of the major clothing changes because from where I was standing they ALL looked adorable. Which is kind of good, because the last time we took pictures (in October), the photo session ended with you looking like this:
Now that I’ve written a five volume novel in lieu of what
was supposed to be a rather quick post, I’m going to sign off.
Loving you tons my little smiley girl!
your mommy.
