9 Months In, 9 Months Out

Dear Tommy,

As my kind friend Miss Kate pointed out over the weekend, you've officially doubled your age. When we put our fabulous math skills together, we calculated that this won't occur again until you are 3 years old. Or 18 months old. Or something like that. Whatever. It's a momentous accomplishment, son.

As I write, you are muttering softly next to me in the bedroom. It's time for bed, and you're not really happy about it. I know you're tired, though. You've rested your head heavily upon the mattress, indicating that the day has exhausted you. You played hard in the bath, and you worked hard figuring out how to flick the lightswitch on and off. You're just getting over a high fever. They always happen over the weekend when we need to take you into Urgent Care to get things checked out.



The last month has been a big one, kiddo. It seems they always are. You're finally realizing that things have a NAME. Like Helen Keller and the water scene. I think this started out with a trick you've been doing...when we ask you to do your trick, you clasp your hands together and hold your hands in an "O" over your head. You look pretty darn proud of yourself.



At any rate, things have progressed since the O took shape. A week ago, you started to take extreme interest in Grandma's mantle clock. Then, one day, the word just came out: "clock." You repeated it several times. Clock. Clock. Clock.

Tick tock.

That day, it all came together. "Mama, mama," you pleaded as you crawled towards me across the rug. I knew you meant what you were saying. Later that night, you reiterated your understanding of the word by screaming, "Maaaamaa! Maaaama!" when you were supposed to be sleeping. I love you, Tommy, but night-night is night-night and I'm not getting out of bed just because you know my name.



I make exceptions for sickness.

It's not only been a big month for you...it's been a big one for our whole family. Last week, Dad and I finally took the plunge and signed a purchase agreement for Our First Home. Well, the first one not underneath the Barreller. And not within the confines of your grandparents' home. There's one bedroom for you, and one for us, and one for your toys or whoever comes to visit.

It's about 6 blocks from your cousins, and Will is planning to bike over as soon as we move in.

You're basically eating whatever's in front of you, although you've decided that Rice Cereal is now beneath your vast palate's standard. Daddy fed you a chocolate chip cookie today, along with cooked carrots, pot roast, and pureed potatoes. You love cheese, and today you gobbled it up atop scrambled eggs.



I wish I could freeze some moments, Tommy, in the way some people freeze cookies or leftovers for later. I wish I could pull out a tiny Tommy to hold and remember---in a physical sense---as these months and years go by. Yesterday, I walked by a picture of you from this summer, and I can't believe how much you've changed. You were so small and pudgy. Now you're long and thin and strong. And smart.

I could go on and on about who you are, Tommy, because you really are...already...coming into your own. It will be amazing to see how that progresses each day that stretches before us.

I love you.

Your,
Mama

P.S. Ask me later about how I accidentally spliced your little finger while cutting your nails. I'm sorry, Tommy. It was horrifying. And then you were SockHand.