You are seven months old today and I don't know where the time has gone. It seems as if we just brought you home yesterday, and it seems as if you have been here forever. You are just over 21 pounds, have two sharp little teeth, and hair that is the envy of every baby on the block. You have an astounding buddha belly and fat rolls on your legs that you could lose things in, but more and more now you look solid rather than chubby.
This month you have really begun to express your opinions. For example, it is your considered opinion that no object should ever be allowed to remain on top of any other object and you consider it your sacred duty to rectify this situation wherever it exists. Your father and I have spent hours stacking your toys so you can knock them over. You are also of the opinion that toys belong on the floor rather than in any sort of container and delight in upending your toy box and watching everything scatter. Your favorite toys are an old cordless phone, an old remote control, your saline nasal spray and your plastic comb. You love books, but more for chewing than for reading.
You are starting to get mobile. When you are sitting up you can turn around and can also scoot along the floor on your butt. On your tummy, you are starting to get your knees up under you and have just started creeping. Backwards. You are not rolling as much as you used to when you first learned how to do it, and your preferred means of locomotion is still to stick your chubby arms in the air and fuss until I pick you up and move you somewhere more interesting. You also love to jump. You have a jumperoo that you like, but only if your father or I are there jumping along with you. You would rather have me hold you so you can jump up and down on my legs. You even do it when you are sound alseep in my arms if your feet happen to land on something solid. You have been ready to go since you were a few weeks old, and the flesh is about to catch up with the spirit.
You talk all day now, a constant stream of babble and screeches and giggles. The other night while we were getting ready for bed you threw yourself at my lap and said Mama very clearly, but I am not kidding myself that it was anything other than coincidence. The next day, we sat on your floor and I said "say Mama" and you said "Dada."
Speaking of Dada, oh how you love your father. When he gets home every day you bust into a huge smile and I have to hold on tight to keep you from wiggling out of my arms in your rush to get to your daddy. Most days, he takes you and you spend some time playing his guitar. You grab the strings so tightly that you hurt your little fingers, but it never stops you for long. You also love to play the piano, so I think Daddy may finally have someone to share his love of music. He has already found you a quarter-size guitar and I'm sure you will be able to play before you can read.
We have been giving you solid food for a little over a month now. So far, you like avocado, and even that only occasionally. You will sometimes tolerate rice cereal, and you hate oatmeal, potatoes, banana, prunes and peaches. Sweet potatoes are evil. You like to play with your bottle and sippy cup, but when it comes to getting actual food into you it is all about Mama. I love breastfeeding you and am incredibly proud of how you thrived as an exclusively breast-fed baby, but I am also starting to look forward to the day when I can go somewhere for longer than an hour without worrying that you are going hungry.
We moved you into your crib this month with mixed success. One night you were in your crib until 5 AM, but most nights I bring you back to bed with me somewhere between 1 and 3, and some nights we give up and just take you straight to bed with us. Your early sleeping success seems like a dream and lately getting and keeping you in bed has been a real fight. I am sorry for the nights when it makes me cranky and I am sorry for the nights when I lose my patience and tell you to just go to sleep already. Dealing with a cranky mommy is the trade-off for never being left in your crib to cry. I will never sit and listen to you cry alone, not now and not ever.
Every day now is something new, some new feat of strength or something new you learn or some new aspect of your personality. You have started shaking and then banging everything you pick up to see what noise it makes (before craming it in your mouth, of course). Your father and I had a conversation last weekend about me going back to work. I had planned to be home with you for a year, so it's about time to start figuring out what I'm going to do. I know I might feel differently in a few months, but right now the very thought of handing you over to someone else makes me sick to my stomach. Caring for you is more important than any other job I could have, and even when I talk about nothing other than poop for a week straight it is more rewarding than any other job I could have.
When you were first born, there were times when I would look at you and just burst into tears. I couldn't help it. Now, there are times when I look at you and burst out laughing. You are a marvel and beautiful and precious and stunning and the absolute joy of my life. I love you, Mia Monkey, Amelia Bedelia, Beaniac, Mia Bean. I love you, I love you, I love you.