Grit, Grit, Grit

Dear Tommy,

This is the sound your 6 month old self makes as you grind your bottom 2 teeth into your newly-emerging top 2 teeth. The sound is horrific, but you jut out your chin while you're making it and you look so proud that I have to love you.

This has been a big month for our family. We finally buckled down and decided to teach you to sleep once and for all---and through some miracle, you decided to learn. Last Tuesday night, we put you down in the Pack N Play, ferberizing you while you cried in true desperation. After 2 hours, you zonked out and SLEPT THE WHOLE NIGHT THROUGH. And then you did it again the next night, and the next night, and the next. Even as I write, you are taking a 2 hour, predictable morning nap. What a God-sent gift. We may give you siblings, after all.

You continue to slurp whatever mushy food we put near you, wearing your appropriate "little stinker" bib and grabbing for the spoon because you need to be in control. You think you're oh-so-funny to drop 10 or 15 toys on the ground and, gee, won't mommy pick them up since your dimple is impossible to resist? You've discovered a love for vehement kicking in the bathtub, sending splashes over the rim and onto Mom. Whenever we take you out, people say what a good baby you are--- and I really have to agree.

We are still living with Grandma and Grandpa, so we all sleep together in the basement room. We did kick you out of the family bed, Tommy, and your Dad and I appreciate the space but still miss you in between us. This morning, you awoke at 5:30 AM so we pulled you in with us under the down comforter for a little snuggling.

I weighed you yesterday and you're about 17 pounds, just growing out of the 6-12 month clothes I bought at the start of the fall. I can tell any day now, you'll be sitting up without my hand at the small of your back, without a pillow to catch you.

You have this wide-eyed look for Daddy and me that so clearly says I love you. You don't need words to communicate, but they'll come soon.

I love you, my Thomas-ino.

Your, Mom