Little One: seven months

Dear Little One,

You’ve sprung some leaks.  I’m not talking about the obvious leaks, although you’ve had those in rainbow colors of yellow, orange, brown, and green since starting solid foods.  I’m talking about some zestier leaks.  Some leaks of zeal and squeal for life.

You simply live large.  All seven months of you is not big enough to contain your big emotions and intense reactions to the world around you.  And you are ever so aware of the world around you.  A creak on the stairs?  Your head whips in that direction, nose pointing like a hunting dog ferreting out a clue.  An overly loud sneeze?  Your lower lip trembles and your eyes fill with tears as your fear washes overboard with cries.  A beloved face appearing in a doorway?  Your mouth gapes open in a welcome grin and your legs start beating happy notes in accompaniment.

You leak excitement.  You dribble out love.  You ooze curiosity.  You radiate determination.  You babble and grunt and coo as if everyone around you spoke your baby dialect.  If I were the sort of person who thought she could detect auras, I’d say yours is rather substantial, shimmering, spunky, and static-ky.

In the past month, you’ve been captivated, to the point of drooling on yourself unnoticed, by the following:

1.  swirling schools of fish at the Seattle aquarium

2.  an orange-haired, orange-hatted 90-year-old woman sitting two rows behind you on the plane

3.  the toes on your right foot

4.  chicken broth

5.  Christmas tree lights (and the ornaments that you’d surely tear off and obliterate given the opportunity)

6.  Little Friend’s ridiculous dances that she concocts just for your viewing pleasure

7.  the toes on your left foot

As you keep growing, will your body eventually grow large enough to contain more of you inside, or will you always be a heart-on-the-sleeves, ready-smile-for-all sort of person?

Will you launch forward into crawling and walking and life with no fear of failure and no feelings hurt if you do fail?

Will my face still light up your horizons?

Will life’s smallest pleasures still be your greatest joys?

Will sneezes still scare you?

I watch all seven months of you with a combination of awe, amazement, amusement, and dread.  Especially dread when your hands come for my face because I never know if I’ll get a soft little love pat or if you’ll be so excited to see me you’ll rip off a lip or poke out an eye with your iron grip.  I watch you and your explosive self carefully, never sure what extreme delight you’ll present next.  You are a force of nature, Little One.

Happy seven spectacular months,

Mama