Dear Little Man,
For as long as I was pregnant with you, you have been in our lives now. Nine months. Nine whole months.
Well, almost ten actually, but who’s counting?
At nine months you are on the move. You’ve figured out how to get around in your very own unique crawling style. With one leg tucked underneath, you manage to push and pull your way through the house, your eye on the object of your dreams. Often times that prize is the dog food bowls. Gross.
At nine months you are pulling up to standing and taking a few tentative, wobbly steps back and forth. I can see the determination in your eyes. I can see the motivation in your every movement. I can see that you will be off and running, causing all sorts of trouble, mostly aimed at getting your big brother’s toys.
I can just about hear, off in the distance, “Moooooom, the little man is touching my toys.”
Oh wait, I’ve already heard that. About 500 times today.
At nine months you have grown your very first tooth. Finally. All by itself, waiting patiently for it’s partner to pop up and join you.
At nine months you love cheese. You are obsessed with cheese. You could eat cheese all day, every day. That’s how I know you are my son.
At nine months you still look like your brother. You still look like your dad. But all I can see, is you. Wonderful you.
At nine months our family feels complete. We are nearing the end of the that first year, the hardest year. We are nearing the end of breastfeeding, which has been such a rewarding, challenging and wonderful experience. We are nearing the end of so very much. Of you being a baby.
And it breaks my heart.
But I know what we have in store for year two. For year three. I’m thrilled. Anxious. And above all, curious to see who you will develop into.