Month Eight

abe and corn
Originally uploaded by briannedrlich.

Dear Abe,

I am a little late posting this month -- let’s blame it on Ozzie. He can handle it. Plus, you love Ozzie the best out of anyone in the family.

A lot of things have happened since last month, and you are such a grown up boy. For starters you have seven teeth now. SEVEN! There are people in Kentucky that only have that many and they are all grown up. Your teeth look a little funny right now, and I am praying that you don’t get my ginormous buck teeth. But, you are a boy, and you probably won’t care about that sort of stuff. You will be more worried about catching frogs and using your giant teeth to open up bottles of Coke.

You are also crawling. Actually, I think crawling is an understatement. You are zipping everywhere at super duper speeds. You LOVE moving by yourself, and you love to gravitate toward all of the dangerous areas in a room. Do they have baby magnets in them? You follow your animal train around, and now you are so fast you can catch it and then flip it upside down. I bet all of your toys think you are Godzilla.

Speaking of your toys, we changed out some of them. And although I was dying to get rid of the talking-farm-animals-from-hell piano, I let you keep it downstairs because you really love it -- that is the kind of generous Mama I am (don’t forget that). I am really enjoying some of the new ones, and I am learning right along with you. For instance: I learned that turtle rides are bumpy, and polar bears live where it’s cold, lions like it hot.

But, your most favorite toy is a tiny, plastic corn on the cob. You stole it from your cousin Ava over Easter, and you pretty much have not been able to let it go. I think it is really funny that you carry that thing around with you, and use it as a little tool. Who knew that corn could double as a hammer, drumstick, and pointer finger. I will admit, I have had some minor panic attacks of you as a twelve year old, toting that corn around. But, I figured we will cross that bridge when it comes.

I think you have the best sense of humor ever – mostly because you laugh at me all of the time. During dinner one day, I made my voice really low – sort of like Yogi Bear or Bullwinkle, and you thought it was the funniest thing ever in the history of your life. How did you know that it was funny? Because you are a baby genius, that’s why. I really, really hope that you will laugh at me when you are older --- or I guess I should say with me. Not because I have a lumpy butt, or because I am wearing a puffy painted Christmas tree sweatshirt.

I have finally stopped worrying about you so much -- it has only taken eight months. No longer do I think you have a giant tumor in your tummy (why it is so big) nor do I think you will die in your sleep (okay, maybe not every night). My internet searches have slowed down, and my world isn’t crumbling around me if you are not using a knife and fork to eat your cottage cheese. I have gotten better, and started giving you more credit. You seem to be doing everything own your own -- you don’t even need me! Well, maybe once in awhile you need me to pick up your corn when you drop it, or to hold you really tight when your teethies hurt. I would love to rock you to sleep forever and ever, but you are getting freakishly large and I am running out of room on my lap. I am relishing every rock that I have with you, and I love staring at your little face. I will let you squeeze my nose and grab my lips as long as you want.

I love you,
Mama