12 Months
Dear Zoë,
One year. Twelve months. Poof! I swear, watching you grow up is the secret to time travel.
You have truly changed our lives. As I sit down to write this, I find myself struggling to come up with the words to express all we’ve shared in this past year. It’s almost funny, considering I’ve been reviewing your accomplishments every month, that only now I don’t know what to say.
You are loved. From the moment your dad and I decided it was time we got to making you. Long before that digital test blinked and read “Pregnant”, we loved you and wanted you more than anything. Loving you has sometimes been the hardest, occasionally painful, often the most joyful, always the most wonderful thing we have ever done. Dada and I want you to always know that.
Those early weeks together irrevocably changed who I am as a woman. I felt so unsure of what I was doing. I was so completely unprepared for what caring for you, loving you, would be like. You wanted to come into this world the same way you want to do everything else – on your own, thank you very much. I think you were really just disgruntled at the rude way in which you were jerked out of your cozy abode. Who could blame you? But the struggles we had finding our way together, as a family, have made each day since a blessing. Every quiet moment, every cuddle, every giggle is a gift. And, most importantly, we carved out our confidence as your Momma and Dada.
It seems that you are miles from the tiny infant we brought home almost a year ago. So much more closer to being a little girl than a newborn. All the little glimpses of your personality, the clues you’ve dropped along the way, have coalesced into this charming, headstrong, and smart little girl. Too smart, sometimes.
Like when you figured out how to climb up on the hearth. Good God – why did we have to install a raised hearth?
It’s almost funny to think back about all the worry we spent over you eating habits, your sleeping habits, your poop. Poop, for goodness sake! All the things that were such struggles have become the things that make you such an easy kid. You are a champion eater. It doesn’t matter what we put in front of you, you’ll chow it down – fruits (your favorite), meat (yum!), veggies (more broccoli, please!), everything! And, it shows, Madame Chunk. That’s one title you certainly retain. Your sleep habits are probably the best in the county and even the doctor was amazed. “12-13 hours a night? What did you do to get such an easy baby?” Any future siblings may have 11 toes and a horn, but at least you sleep, now.
You are strong. Wow, are you strong. Your physical strength is one thing that has not changed, even from when I was carrying you. You will pick up things that I never thought a 12-month-old could lift, and then handily carry them around the house. Your power squats are unrivaled, and have us sizing you for a catcher’s mitt. Seriously, kid – you will hold one of those squats for 5 minutes then –Pop!—up you go. But, you’re not just strong, you’re tough. Dada often called me his “harbor chick” when I was pregnant (it’s a Ghostbusters 2 reference. We’ll watch it when you’re older). But you are the harbor chick now. At your latest doctor’s appointment, you were such a trooper that even the nurse was marveling over it. You curiously watched her prepare your shots and did not even flinch – not even a blink! – for the first one. Only a mere whimper at the second, and you were right as rain. She said to you, “What do they make you do, kiddo? Walk across hot coals?” Crying? Bah! There’s no crying in immunizations! (A twisted League of Their Own reference. We watch a lot of movies in this house, young lady.)
Add to your strength and grit your independent streak and we’ve got ourselves a spunky little tike on our hands. I swear I’ve heard you say “I do!” over the past couple of weeks. You will feed yourself, go up the stairs by yourself, hold your own cups and bottles, and go where you want to go. Holding hands? That’s so baby. Forget carrying you because that only leads to The Squirm (unless you’re tired, at which point all bets are off). You are not very interested in having books read to you, but you love to “read” to yourself. You certainly have your favorite pages and pictures, and heaven forbid we turn the pages for you. It makes me smile to see you sit down with books and flip through them, babbling as if you know exactly what the pages say.
At the same time – and I almost shudder to say it – you are this total girly-girl. I suppose all is not lost, since a true Womanist! embraces her woman-ness while being smart and strong. But, the look of sheer joy on your face when you opened Auntie Karen’s birthday present and saw clothes . . . that pink ATV from great-grandma was cool, but the dress? The dress was hug-worthy. You love clothes, you love playing with my costumes and veils, your shoes. When I put on your sunglasses, or your hat, you place your hand by your face and smile as if to say, “Don’t I look fabulous?” And you delight in having a scarf or blanket thrown over your shoulders, sashaying around the room like America’s Next Top Model.
You are a flirt, to boot. We can’t take you anywhere but you are trying to catch the eye of the kindly lady in the grocery line or the little boy in the restaurant booth. You always flash your dimples and sometimes babble greetings. You never fail to charm the pants off everyone you meet. “Oh, what a sweetie!” they’ll say. Granted, if someone dares to steal a cuddle from you, its fuss and squirm and “Maaaa MAAA!” Because no one comes between a Zoë and her Momma.
No one. Ever.
Love,
Momma
One year. Twelve months. Poof! I swear, watching you grow up is the secret to time travel.
You have truly changed our lives. As I sit down to write this, I find myself struggling to come up with the words to express all we’ve shared in this past year. It’s almost funny, considering I’ve been reviewing your accomplishments every month, that only now I don’t know what to say.
You are loved. From the moment your dad and I decided it was time we got to making you. Long before that digital test blinked and read “Pregnant”, we loved you and wanted you more than anything. Loving you has sometimes been the hardest, occasionally painful, often the most joyful, always the most wonderful thing we have ever done. Dada and I want you to always know that.
Those early weeks together irrevocably changed who I am as a woman. I felt so unsure of what I was doing. I was so completely unprepared for what caring for you, loving you, would be like. You wanted to come into this world the same way you want to do everything else – on your own, thank you very much. I think you were really just disgruntled at the rude way in which you were jerked out of your cozy abode. Who could blame you? But the struggles we had finding our way together, as a family, have made each day since a blessing. Every quiet moment, every cuddle, every giggle is a gift. And, most importantly, we carved out our confidence as your Momma and Dada.
It seems that you are miles from the tiny infant we brought home almost a year ago. So much more closer to being a little girl than a newborn. All the little glimpses of your personality, the clues you’ve dropped along the way, have coalesced into this charming, headstrong, and smart little girl. Too smart, sometimes.
Like when you figured out how to climb up on the hearth. Good God – why did we have to install a raised hearth?
It’s almost funny to think back about all the worry we spent over you eating habits, your sleeping habits, your poop. Poop, for goodness sake! All the things that were such struggles have become the things that make you such an easy kid. You are a champion eater. It doesn’t matter what we put in front of you, you’ll chow it down – fruits (your favorite), meat (yum!), veggies (more broccoli, please!), everything! And, it shows, Madame Chunk. That’s one title you certainly retain. Your sleep habits are probably the best in the county and even the doctor was amazed. “12-13 hours a night? What did you do to get such an easy baby?” Any future siblings may have 11 toes and a horn, but at least you sleep, now.
You are strong. Wow, are you strong. Your physical strength is one thing that has not changed, even from when I was carrying you. You will pick up things that I never thought a 12-month-old could lift, and then handily carry them around the house. Your power squats are unrivaled, and have us sizing you for a catcher’s mitt. Seriously, kid – you will hold one of those squats for 5 minutes then –Pop!—up you go. But, you’re not just strong, you’re tough. Dada often called me his “harbor chick” when I was pregnant (it’s a Ghostbusters 2 reference. We’ll watch it when you’re older). But you are the harbor chick now. At your latest doctor’s appointment, you were such a trooper that even the nurse was marveling over it. You curiously watched her prepare your shots and did not even flinch – not even a blink! – for the first one. Only a mere whimper at the second, and you were right as rain. She said to you, “What do they make you do, kiddo? Walk across hot coals?” Crying? Bah! There’s no crying in immunizations! (A twisted League of Their Own reference. We watch a lot of movies in this house, young lady.)
Add to your strength and grit your independent streak and we’ve got ourselves a spunky little tike on our hands. I swear I’ve heard you say “I do!” over the past couple of weeks. You will feed yourself, go up the stairs by yourself, hold your own cups and bottles, and go where you want to go. Holding hands? That’s so baby. Forget carrying you because that only leads to The Squirm (unless you’re tired, at which point all bets are off). You are not very interested in having books read to you, but you love to “read” to yourself. You certainly have your favorite pages and pictures, and heaven forbid we turn the pages for you. It makes me smile to see you sit down with books and flip through them, babbling as if you know exactly what the pages say.
At the same time – and I almost shudder to say it – you are this total girly-girl. I suppose all is not lost, since a true Womanist! embraces her woman-ness while being smart and strong. But, the look of sheer joy on your face when you opened Auntie Karen’s birthday present and saw clothes . . . that pink ATV from great-grandma was cool, but the dress? The dress was hug-worthy. You love clothes, you love playing with my costumes and veils, your shoes. When I put on your sunglasses, or your hat, you place your hand by your face and smile as if to say, “Don’t I look fabulous?” And you delight in having a scarf or blanket thrown over your shoulders, sashaying around the room like America’s Next Top Model.
You are a flirt, to boot. We can’t take you anywhere but you are trying to catch the eye of the kindly lady in the grocery line or the little boy in the restaurant booth. You always flash your dimples and sometimes babble greetings. You never fail to charm the pants off everyone you meet. “Oh, what a sweetie!” they’ll say. Granted, if someone dares to steal a cuddle from you, its fuss and squirm and “Maaaa MAAA!” Because no one comes between a Zoë and her Momma.
No one. Ever.
Love,
Momma
Labels: milestones, monthly letter, zoe
posted by Kate at
9:55 PM
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