Blog a la Cart

Baby girl,

Let me begin by saying that you made this holiday season memorable- in both a magical but also bodily fluid-filled capacity. You continue to push mommy and daddy to grow in ways we didn’t know were possible. Thank you for bringing us such joy and for teaching us the true meaning of selflessness.

Since the first week of your life “on the outside” your Momar has had a mild (okay, major) obsession with your hands. While most babies are complimented for their beautiful eyes, or perfectly spherical heads, or button noses, your Momar has gone on and on (and on and on) about your stunning, long fingers and delicate hands. Yeah, I know. Why couldn’t I have bestowed upon you a more prominent best feature? Ask your Doda, he’s the geneticist. This hand obsession has become a rather universal point of affection, as your babysitter has also mentioned on several occasions the beauty of those hands. And then this month you’ve taken to worrying them together, and I must admit, it is the dang cutest thing I’ve ever seen. I can’t help but whisper, Out out dang spot, as you harness your inner Lady Macbeth.

Perhaps not the best literary character to emulate, but who’s judging. Everyone.

Anyway, I’m now on the hand-obsession train. My budding hand model. What more could a mother want.

You also are the most fun, ever. While I’ve enjoyed each month of your wee baby life, this month has been by far the most gloriously entertaining. We just have fun. So very much fun together. Now that you can kind of crawl (i.e. awk around like a drunk cat), we play all sorts of games and you squeal and laugh with delight. You understand how to play beek-a-bo, how to feed and pet Ursa, how to look at books while Mommy reads to you, how to try to escape from Daddy when he tickles you. It is the best. And I’m told it only gets MORE FUN! Holy hell, I don’t know if I can take it.

Because, well, with the fun, comes the flipside. You are now more opinionated and capable of acting on those opinions than ever before. Which means you are a pain. A pill! A baby who flips all over the changing table because you’re too bored to have your diaper changed and then you consequently pee all over the place. A baby who knows what she likes when it comes to her palette and will spit and raspberry and scream when fed anything that is not in the fruit family (i.e. anything non-sweet and sugary). In a former life, you were a fruit bat. We can coax you to eat yams and squash by coating them in cinnamon, but then you get a ridiculous red heat rash all around your month, and then you’re reminiscent of the Joker, as in Heath Ledger’s Joker, and it freaks me out.

Except, even when you freak me out, you are the cutest of cute. Seriously, there are  no cuter babies on the history of the planet, nor shall there be in the future. Of course, I realize that this is my blatant parental bias speaking, but I just can’t get over how truly awesome it is that daddy and I are so very in love with you and truly believe in our hearts that you are the most adorable baby ever born. What makes this feeling so amazing is to think that every parent (or one hopes every parent) feels comparably about their own child. And that our parents felt that way about us. The amount of love in the world is astounding.

Daddy and I are the happiest just lying around, watching you, and congratulating each other on creating and raising the sweetest baby on Earth. And to think we were all so loved and admired by our own parents. It’s awe-inspiring.

Happy 8 months, punkin pie.

143 Mama