Letters to Liam - Month Ten

Dear Liam,



When I sat down to collect my thoughts and remember all the things that have happened this month, I am astonished by all the things you have been doing. You are SO close to walking. I'm still betting we'll see a step by Christmas.



This month, you endured your very first cold. Nothing major, just a stuffy, runny nose. But man, were you ever cranky! Our plans for sleep training went up in smoke, since you went back to getting up twice a night, and I didn't have the heart to ignore you when you were so miserable.



Despite your cold, you went to visit Santa Claus. While I can say that you were much better behaved than many of the older children there, I have to admit that you were mostly just puzzled by the entire event. You went on Santa's lap, and sat quietly for the pictures, but I have just under a hundred pictures, and you're wearing the same bewildered expression in each one.



I needed some early cheer this year, so we went to get our Christmas tree right after Thanksgiving. It was fun. You'll be wanting to help Daddy cut down the tree next year, I imagine. Between the time we put the tree in the truck and the time we got it home, it had grown another three feet, and some judicious pruning was required before it would fit in the house.



The tree is gated. This does not deter you. You've discovered how to move the gate. I have sixteen new white hairs from the time I turned around from washing dishes to see you with a narrow glass icicle in your mouth. But you love the tree. You especially love my collection of silver bells and balls, that you tell me to ring so you can hear them.




You are totally at home in the cold and the snow. I love this about you. You are a child of Vermont, and your father couldn't be happier. It has snowed tons this month. Your cousins from Maryland came to visit, and they were not as impressed with the snow, or the cold. They must have thought I was practicing a particularly evil form of child abuse every time I took you outside to get in the car. Bulky outerwear makes you immensely cranky, and since the car is always warm before you get into it, I typically only make you wear a fleece pullover and a hat. No coat, no gloves.

It's a measure of how much I have become a Vermonter that I mentioned to your Aunt Brandy that our day trip to Burlington would be nice since it was pretty warm that day. It was 28 degrees out. There is a BIG difference between 28 degrees and 8. She was nice enough to stop laughing when she saw I was earnest, but she still thinks I'm insane.



You and your cousin Dylan are only two weeks apart. It was a real treat to see the two of you interact. Dylan is BIG. And he made you look like a peanut. You retaliated by trying to eat his head several times a day. Poor Dylan. He is so big, he's not crawling or standing yet. He was more or less helpless against your onslaughts.



One day, it snowed so much that it came up to my mid-thigh in the backyard. Being that sort of mother, I took you out of the sled and deposited you in the hold made by my leg. Anything for a picture! I thought I might get one or two off before you started screaming. Instead, you started eating snow.



Your cousins Dylan and Rachel came for a visit and left their coughy plague behind. With three rugrats sharing a small house for three days, it was inevitable that you'd catch it. My poor little Bean. You're a coughy, feverish mess, and I missed almost a whole week of work between snowstorms and sick baby. You are immensely cuddly, though. It's a good thing too, since you've got me up all night.

You've just said your first word. I couldn't be prouder every time you say, "uh-oh". Or "uh-uh-uhhhhh-oh." You're incredibly delighted with yourself. You still need to work on your timing though. Grabbing a handful of Cheerios from your high chair, you hold them over the side, pronounce "uh-oh" and then let them fall. Cheeky monkey. It's almost as hard not to laugh as when you grab onto the Christmas tree. I'll give you my sternest "no-noooo" and shake my head. You'll shake your head emphatically back at me, then produce the most mischevious grin and head right back to whatever trouble you were trying to accomplish.

Christmas is only a week away little man. Ready?


Love,

Mama