Eleven Months
Dear Zoë,
This past weekend I watched you play at your last Gymboree class for a while. It was a bittersweet moment – you had just gotten used to the whole routine, really started to explore the play equipment, and began bopping along to the songs. But was most bittersweet was my realization of how much you’ve grown up. And how quickly. There were three other babies there, your same age, who were all still babies. None of them were walking, yet. One wasn’t yet crawling. They were small, and cuddly, and quiet . . . interested in what was going on, but tentative and (honestly) immobile. Meanwhile, you were tearing around the room chasing after the sixteen-month-olds and babbling with Miss Deb. Dada and I try our best to keep up with you, but it was in that moment that I realized we missed out on your babyhood. We blinked and it was gone!
There was one thing, though, that those other 11-month-olds had you on: teeth.
It has been over this past month that the little girl who is Zoë started to emerge. You are curious, loud (Really loud. And high-pitched.), silly, tough . . . boy, are you tough. You’ve still got that determined spirit we started to see as soon as you began pulling up, and you have got it in spades. You will take one heck of a header and you’ll start to wail. But, when I come to soothe you, you want none of it. You get this hard little look on your face and whatever you tripped or slipped on gets the evil eye. You will triumph over this obstacle, dammit, or you will die trying! It’s as if your wails are only to say, “How dare you get in my way! Do you know who I am?”
Despite the fact that winter is nearly over (we hope!), we have had more snow this month than we’ve gotten nearly all season. You got Momma home for another snow day (2 in a year – mark this, baby, ‘cuz it will never happen again) and we sat by the back door just watching the snow. You were so delighted. Then Dada came home and brought a snowball inside for you to play with – what a treat! You squeezed a little handful of snow in your fist and came toddling over to me with such pride in your face. Your little hand was like ice, but you couldn’t believe this cold, wet, white stuff. But, all you can say is “Bup!”
The world, Zoë, is Bup.
We’re not too sure what “bup” means and, in fact, we’re starting to accept that it means everything. You understand us – more than we want to believe – and have no trouble finding whatever object we ask you to locate. Our nightly routine involves finding and hugging each stuffed animal. “Where is Mr. Panda? Give Mr. Panda a hug!” Even more complex directions, like “Give that sharp, small object you found on the floor and are trying to put into your mouth to Momma!” are no problem. So, we thought, naively, let’s ask her to find “bup.” Maybe then we could identify what it is. But, sometimes “bup” is your wipe, sometimes my coat, sometimes there’s no response other than a “What the hell are you people talking about?” look. I know, I know – in the wise words of the Fresh Prince, “Parents just don’t understand.”
Bup,
Momma
This past weekend I watched you play at your last Gymboree class for a while. It was a bittersweet moment – you had just gotten used to the whole routine, really started to explore the play equipment, and began bopping along to the songs. But was most bittersweet was my realization of how much you’ve grown up. And how quickly. There were three other babies there, your same age, who were all still babies. None of them were walking, yet. One wasn’t yet crawling. They were small, and cuddly, and quiet . . . interested in what was going on, but tentative and (honestly) immobile. Meanwhile, you were tearing around the room chasing after the sixteen-month-olds and babbling with Miss Deb. Dada and I try our best to keep up with you, but it was in that moment that I realized we missed out on your babyhood. We blinked and it was gone!
There was one thing, though, that those other 11-month-olds had you on: teeth.
It has been over this past month that the little girl who is Zoë started to emerge. You are curious, loud (Really loud. And high-pitched.), silly, tough . . . boy, are you tough. You’ve still got that determined spirit we started to see as soon as you began pulling up, and you have got it in spades. You will take one heck of a header and you’ll start to wail. But, when I come to soothe you, you want none of it. You get this hard little look on your face and whatever you tripped or slipped on gets the evil eye. You will triumph over this obstacle, dammit, or you will die trying! It’s as if your wails are only to say, “How dare you get in my way! Do you know who I am?”
Despite the fact that winter is nearly over (we hope!), we have had more snow this month than we’ve gotten nearly all season. You got Momma home for another snow day (2 in a year – mark this, baby, ‘cuz it will never happen again) and we sat by the back door just watching the snow. You were so delighted. Then Dada came home and brought a snowball inside for you to play with – what a treat! You squeezed a little handful of snow in your fist and came toddling over to me with such pride in your face. Your little hand was like ice, but you couldn’t believe this cold, wet, white stuff. But, all you can say is “Bup!”
The world, Zoë, is Bup.
We’re not too sure what “bup” means and, in fact, we’re starting to accept that it means everything. You understand us – more than we want to believe – and have no trouble finding whatever object we ask you to locate. Our nightly routine involves finding and hugging each stuffed animal. “Where is Mr. Panda? Give Mr. Panda a hug!” Even more complex directions, like “Give that sharp, small object you found on the floor and are trying to put into your mouth to Momma!” are no problem. So, we thought, naively, let’s ask her to find “bup.” Maybe then we could identify what it is. But, sometimes “bup” is your wipe, sometimes my coat, sometimes there’s no response other than a “What the hell are you people talking about?” look. I know, I know – in the wise words of the Fresh Prince, “Parents just don’t understand.”
Bup,
Momma
Labels: milestones, monthly letter, parenting, zoe
posted by Kate at
2:10 PM
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