Letters to Brady: 11 months

Dear Brady,

You're old today.  As I see signs of you leaving babyhood and entering toddlerdom, I have mixed emotions.  You were such an easy baby and I have a fear is that toddlerdom will change you.  Two days ago, you started boycotting finger food.  Chicken, blueberries, grapes - things you previously scarfed down were no longer a dining option.  Even when I tried to sneak these things in on a spoon, with something pureed, the look of disgust you had as you spit them out was dramatic, to say the least.  You thought pureed carrots were delicious, but give you a carrot chunk and it ended up on the bib.  You've been such a good eater up until now and I don't look forward to the food wars.

The good news is that you're getting smarter.  The bad news is that you're getting smarter.  Your dad and I can't pull the wool over your eyes quite as easy anymore.  It does mean that you can (sometimes) understand what I say.  A few weeks ago, I told you to clap your hands, and you did it!  After talking to myself you for 10 months, it is so gratifying to see you finally understand something, anything, I am saying.  You can also wave on demand (when you feel like it) and your double-handed wave melts me.

Every mother loves her child's smile and I am no different.  There is this one smile you have:  your eyes get squinty and you're so happy that your face seems like it isn't big enough and your mouth won't quite let you smile wide enough.  That one gets me.

Some babies have lovies, you have my hair.  It's your security blanket.  If you're tired and I'm holding you, you'll suck your right thumb, rest your head on my left shoulder and wrap your left arm around my neck to rub my hair between your fingers.  Sometimes, it's sweet.  Sometimes, I want nothing more than to shave my head.  I'm trying to break you of the habit and those efforts have been fruitless.  I thought of a perfect solution:  we'd buy you a doll with long blond hair and you could bring her around where ever you go.  Your dad wasn't too jazzed about that idea.

As you get older, wiser, and more independent, remember that I (and my hair) will always be here for you.  I love you.

Love,
Mom