Sunday, October 2, 2011

Seven months.

Seven months.

Dear George,

Check me out! I'm writing your letter on the actual day of the month of you were born! I don't think I've done this since you were...ever. I've never managed to get one of these posts done on time. Oops. Whatever.

You are closer to one year old than the day you were born. That boggles my mind. You are my baby, such a little baby who drinks his bottle and occasionally condescends to snuggle in my arms. One-year-olds are mobile thundering giants who say actual words and eat lots of real food. How can we be this much closer to that age?

Your major accomplishment this month was learning to sit up on your own. It went down the same way your rolling did - you were not so hot at it for weeks on end, and then one day, suddenly, you got it. You had it. You were sitting up like a pro overnight. I have said before that this is where I would like to hit the pause button, and I mean it. You are such a happy little guy, and it the cuteness just goes through the roof when you sit up in the grocery cart seat, or in a high chair at a restaurant, or I plop you down to play with your toys.

Crawling is supposed to be the next milestone on the radar, but you are not even close. You roll and spin in circles to get where you are trying to go, and you do not seem to frustrated by it. I do think that your motivation to eventually crawl will be the cats. Oh man, do you want to get those cats. I don't blame you. They are kind of jerks, especially when they walk juuuuuust out of your reach. Or they vomit on your toys. Like I said, jerks.

Another accomplishment this past month is that you have begun to take to your sippy cup. You have not mastered it, but you actually get liquid out of it. Years from now when you are struggling with your calculus homework, I will just tell you about the time that I was so very proud that you could drink from your sippy cup. And you will be all, "Ugh, Mom, what is the point of that lame story?" The point is that I will love you no matter happens with your math class. Now stop sassing your mother.

You and I are getting out of the house more. Momma's making friends, which is great for her quality of life, which in turn is great for your quality of life. Happy momma, happy baby. I have heard that saying a lot since having you, and it is true. I just need to pull that line out so I can justify getting a pedicure.

There are so many things that make you happy. I wish that joy could come to you this easily for the rest of your life. Sometimes you break out in a huge smile just because I say "Hi." You love it when I read or sing to you. A couple of days ago I busted out with "Stop! Hammertime. Doo doo doo doo, doo, doo." Yes, your momma rapped for you. That is how much I love you. You rewarded me by laughing like it was the funniest thing you ever saw in your nearly seven months of life. Which might be the truth.

Love you stinkerdoodle,

Momma, aka That Goofy Lady

Sitting up like a big boy.

Mammaw and George.


George playing the piano on Dad's iPad.

George happy in his stroller.

Dinner of broccoli and grapes.

Not that end of the sippy cup, buddy.

Hip carry from a few days ago.

Completed week 1 of Couch to 5k. My running buddy slept most of the way.

Thirsty, Momma.

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