eight months

Dear Elliott,

Geez, little guy- I looked up and it is December already, and somehow you are eight months old. Between teetering from panic (Aaaagh- if he's eight months old he should be huge, 'cause that's pretty old. He's not eating enough and underweight I'mnotagoodmom-aaaah!) to um, well, other forms of panic (How are you already standing up in your crib and eating everything in sight is that paper in your mouth gimmethat gimmeTHAT!) I've managed to let go a little bit this last month.

A tooth sprouted in the bottom of your mouth on November 2nd, and then another came along the day after my birthday. You were kindof whiny and punkish right before they popped through, but not bad compared to horror stories I've heard from other moms. Well, until a week ago, when you up and decided to become a BITER. I tried firm talks, which went over as well as I imagine a trigonometry lesson would at this age. So I went on strike for a couple of days and only gave you bottles (which don't scream when you bite them), and then I googled ways to get you to stop and I'm sincerely hoping that we've fixed that problem. Because after a couple more times of that, I am going to hand you a pork chop and call it a day.

I also decided to go to Chicago for a weekend with some of my friends, which was really hard considering the longest I have been without you has been about four hours. So I left a schedule with your Daddy and took off, and being the emotional blob that I am totally cried when I left- right after I sniffed all of your blankets and stuffed animals. I probably annoyed the living daylights out of your father, calling and texting every hour and just waiting for the world to fall apart. Apparently you didn't even notice I left though, and you and Daddy had a weekend with no major catastrophes or incidents. My weekend in Chicago was a different story- although it was fun, it involved getting caught in the middle of Michigan avenue in some ENORMOUS crazy parade, an unfortunate purchase of the most uncomfortable, adorable shoes, and a seriously weird cab ride. Oh, and finding appropriate times and locations to pump- 'cause there aren't any.

We hosted your first Thanksgiving here, and you (finally) got to try food with seasonings and meat and marshmallows! You also discovered that making a disgusted face and gagging makes people laugh, and so you did that every time I gave you a bite to eat. You seemed a little bewildered by all the people in our house, but shrugged it off afterward and decided the crowd was worth it if it meant sweet potato casserole.

The next day we broke out the Christmas decorations, and while you have yet to figure out that I have plopped a tree in the middle of the living room, you have discovered the toy nativity scene I bought a while back and have discovered the true meaning of the holiday. Tasty, tasty baby Jesus.

Love,

Momma