I’ve been a mother for 10 months today. Its hard to believe: My son is 10 months old.
He’s crawling. He’s walking (with some help from the furniture and walls). He’s babbling. He says “mama” and “dada”. The rest is a jumble. He points at things up high that he wants. He can crawl to everything else. He loves watching an episode of Sesame Street on weekend mornings, his little body will bounce up and down and he’ll flap his arms in excitement when the theme song comes on.
He’s cuddly and lovable. He’s focused and stubborn. He’s happy and full of laughter.
His presence has dictated more laundry, a focus on meal planning, more organization, and a distinct lack of sleep. He’s made of love and laughter. He fills our days and nights with happiness, craziness, and unabashed joy. Our house is overflowing with toys.
He’s made us realize how dusty our baseboards and floors were and necessitated a thorough cleaning of everything shorter than 3 feet. He’s shown us see the world through a baby’s eyes: Where everything is fresh and new and fascinating. Where everything is possible. Where all you need is a clean diaper, some food, and a lot of love.
He’s made us laugh at his antics. He’s made us forget what we were “giving up” before we had him. He’s made us better people.
He’s shown us the meaning of unconditional love.
Thank you, Monkey, for all the gifts you’ve given us, just by being you.
I love you forever,