Hey there, 10 month-old.
Fun factoid, Jasper: Did you know that 10 months is heart-stoppingly close to the number 12? As in months? As in A YEAR? You probably did know that, because you’re downright brilliant and advanced and kind of a remarkable all-around individual of the short-ish persuasion.
But if I’m being honest with myself (which is usually the first thing to go right out the ol’ window when the topic of my children’s ages n’ stages comes up), you haven’t been “a baby” for a while. Sure, you sleep in a crib and still afford me the ability to heft you willy nilly as the situation arises, but in terms of snuggly infantitude, well pal, that pram has long since rolled off.
Yes, you let me hold and even squeeze you occasionally- but it’s usually a mere second before you squirm out of my arms and attempt to hang upside down to the floor. (Which I’m pretty sure you’ve seen your middle sister doing and which I’m pretty sure needs to stop right this instant.) And during those rare times you’re content to be cradled by me, it’s most likely because you’re in the midst of pawing at my chest or chomping at my neck like a rooting pig. (Also? That’s NOT how we treat a lady. Talk to your father. Actually- don’t.)
And the days of me placing you on a blanket and stepping away for a minute are so long gone I can’t even squint that far. Being set down on a surface is now an invitation to burrow, log-roll, pull up, and upend anything within chewing distance. (Spoiler: Everything is within chewing distance.)
“That thing you’re holding…can I chew that?”
But now you have words, pal! You say things like “DaDa”, which means Dad and That and This and Gimme and All Done and Can I Hold The Cat and More Sippy Cup.
I won’t list your other words and phrases because I don’t want the internet to explode with jealousy at your braininess. But we both know what we both know, you know?
Kid, I love that I can already see the person you’ll become. That way you hand me bites of (admittedly gross) food from your tray? You’re a sharer. When you smile and giggle pleasantly while your sisters put things on your head? You’re so mellow and great in any crowd. And when you quietly sigh as I heft you on planes and into the backseat of cars and wear you during endless (for you) appointments? You’re…always gonna be my third child.
And my baby.
And my favorite little man.
And the guy I just know I’m gonna love to be around for the rest of our lives, to hang out with in actual, out-in-the-world settings where we can share conversations and moments and meals.
Just so long as you keep the food on your own plate.
I love you, Jasper.
Love,
Mom
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