Dear Jasper,
Happy 11 months, pal.
I’ve mentioned this before, but you’re pretty much the only one around here I don’t worry about. (And yes, I’m including that Dad of yours. That guy…) It’s funny, right? The smallest, least mobile (for now), and most requiring of my physical presence is the one whom I fret about the least. (…For now.)
You’re the one who’s tried all the foods way ahead of suggested timelines, and the one who completely skipped over the baby bottle stage in favor of your sisters’ straw cups. (Glad you dig pink and purple. Because the only straw cups we own are pink and purple.)
“Maybe buy me a new cup…?”
You face-plant into cabinets and crawl under beds. You wander through the house, plastered against the wall like a rock climber scooting around a rough corner or a cat burglar entering a hotel window via a narrow ledge. (I’m sorry, that’s just what it looks like.) Other babies may toddle, but you feel your way through the house, inch by inch, wall by wall. It’d be downright sneaky, if not for the excited smile on your face as you enter each room and train your eyes with laser focus on the object you’re about to upend. You, my friend, have what we in the business refer to as a “tell.” (Lousy for a spy. Exceptionally helpful for a Mama of a third child.)
To put it in perspective, when (first child) Nora was three weeks old I called the poison control hotline because she was spitting up “too much.” When (second child) Susannah was 18 months old, I took her to an allergist for rashes she had been covered with…for roughly a year. And when you (my delightful third) bashed your cheekbone on a coffee table last week, your Dad and I briefly wondered how noticeable it was gonna be for next week’s family picture.
I apologize to all three of you.
But because you’re my third, I now know that solo play is fantastic for you, quiet time with your sisters (and very little Mom interference) is crucial, and if I don’t make a big deal of your injuries then you won’t, either. In short- you’re fine. You’re beyond fine, actually. You’re my mellow, cheerful, Boy Child who occasionally wants to sit on my lap before exploring the big, wide world beyond the couch. And since you’ve mellowed me as well, I’m content to let you. (Mostly.)
Despite Jasper’s cheeriness, I only managed to take solemn Victorian-faced pictures this month.
That said, I’ve seen you around women. You LOVE women. You bat those ridiculously long lashes, snuggle your face in for a nuzzle or lip-smacking kiss, and follow up with that coy grin.
I know that grin.
YOU ARE HERE BECAUSE OF THAT GRIN.
I have my eye on you, Schoeny. (And I always will. Happily.)
Love you,
Mom
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