5 Months

Dear Owen,

Hey there, little man – I think we’re actually having some fun! You are, amazingly, five months old this week and I think I like you now. That sounds harsh, I know. To anyone who has not gone through raising a newborn, it may as well be blasphemy. Even to some people who have because, well, they are baby-raising robots or something. But, your mother is not a fan of the early months, and neither you nor your sister has made great strides in changing my opinion of those first 20 weeks or so. In fact, it is almost as if you two saw it as your mission to insure that I never became a fan of the newborn stage. Job well done!

But, we’ve seemingly passed that hurdle and our time together is so much more enjoyable. In the last month, it is like you yawned, stretched and woke up to the world. Where once you really only enjoyed looking at and “talking” to people, you now realize there are things around you. Things that make noise, or light up, or taste good in your mouth. Make that and taste good in your mouth. You like to grab whatever you can reach, stare at it intently, and concentrate very hard on working it between your gums. While everything is deserving of at least a taste, you do have your favorites. The blue chime-y elephant is one you especially like. In fact, blue elephants seem to be a theme when it comes to favorite toys: there’s the blue elephant that shakes and rattles when you pull it (attached to your car seat), the soft blue stuffed elephant that snuggles with you in your crib (whose trunk is easily directed into your mouth by holding the ears), and the blue chime-y elephant on your “play gym.” Interesting . . . Owen, I feel like I need to tell you now that I may disown you if you become a big game hunter.



I think the delightful change in your attitude, your mood, is in large part due to how much more in control you feel. You can grab and move and chew your toys. You can sit up a little and look around. You can even roll over and squirm across the floor. Small distances. Very small distances. But, hey – you did it on your own! It cracks me up how proud you get of yourself. Sometimes, you will be laying on the floor playing with (inevitably) the blue elephant. It gets tossed (“Hey – how’d that happen?”), you track it with your head, then roll over towards it. Then you prop up your little head and look at me as if to say, “Did you just see what I did? I totally just did that!” You are so pleased.



You continue to grow. And eat. I suppose a boy as active as you are needs a lot of fuel. You are now eating three meals a day, just like the big kids. A bit sooner than the pediatrician “advised”, but we cheated anyway by starting the solids at – what? – 13 weeks. You are all about the fruits, mostly because I haven’t gotten around to making many veggies. And yogurt – you love yogurt. I know there are some people who will judge and condemn me because I gave you yogurt before you were six months old. I am a horrible mother. I feed my child a food. That he likes. Oh, and it is organic and healthy for him. You don’t fuss much during the day anymore, but, when you do, it is apparently because the trip the spoon makes from your mouth, to the bowl, and back to your mouth again is not fast enough.

But, truly, Owen, the best part about this month has been the sleeping. Up until about 2 weeks ago, napping was not exactly your strong suit. We’d gotten the bedtime routine down (the 3 Bs: bath, boob, bed), and you were sleeping through the night. Mostly. But you were still treating daytime sleep like the enemy. I wanted to get you napping, but knew Gram didn’t have the cajones to really stick it to you. I mean, you needed to nap! If you slept well during the day, you slept even better at night. So, over spring break, since you were home with me, I set about “nap-training” you. Hurrah! Success! Now you take 2 fairly predictable naps every day. And there is much rejoicing. It is so good for all of us.



The best part of my day is coming to fetch you and Zoë after work. The open-mouthed, gummy, whole-face smile you give me is an incredible reward for even the most trying days. It is funny how you will look and babble at Zoë in the backseat as we drive home. She remains your favorite person . . . sometimes, I think you jabber at her thinking she’s your translator. Like, “You look like someone who can speak my language. Can you tell these people what I’m saying?” You really get a kick out of “chasing” her – I will hold you in a standing position (something you love to begin with), and bob you along the floor after her. You grin and razz and bubble the whole way, until we get her. Then you grab at her face or her hair and lean in close.

So, yeah – I guess it’s been a pretty fun month! Right now you’ve got a cold, again. And despite your snuffliness, you are just as delightful and playful as ever. We won’t talk about last night. Ugh. We haven’t had a night like that in a looong while and I know it was just because you didn’t feel well. But my head is not happy about it today. Come morning, though, you were cheerful and smiling. My “little gentleman.”



What a difference a month makes.

Love,
Momma

3 Years

3/26/09

Dear Zoë,

Three years old. Three years ago today you reluctantly entered the world. I say reluctantly because, well, you didn’t seem to want to be born. At least not at that day and time. But enter the world you did and when you did the world tilted on its axis just the tiniest bit.



At first, you did not seem too happy with me or your father. Oh, the crying. And the clawing. And the not-sleeping. Almost as if to say, “You’ll pay for pulling me out of my cozy home.” It was so hard, there were times I was not sure if I would make it to the next hour. But, I did. And then I made it to the next day, the next week, the next month . . . Somewhere along the way, you became our daughter and fell in love with us as much as we were in love with you.

Looking back on those early months is a bit surreal. Someone wise – another mother, I’m sure – once told me that it was good I was writing down what it was like adjusting to you because someday I would forget how hard and heart-wracking it was. At the time, I thought that was utter nonsense. But, it makes sense now. I certainly will never forget the experience, but the context is so different now. You are so different now.



You are a good kid. You are a great kid. Wait – that’s just it – you’re a kid! Holy cow . . . there is no way anyone would ever refer to you as a baby. In addition to being a bit tall for your age, you are quite simply your own person now. You have ideas, and dreams, and preferences, and you tell us about them. More than that, you are so aware of the other people around you – how they’re feeling, what they might like, and (though it pains me to see it so soon) what they think about you.

In the past year, your greatest love has been for all things horse. If it has a horse, if it is a horse, hoof-prints, horseshoes, cowboy hats, cowboy boots . . . “Momma, I like horses.” No kidding, kiddo. Anyone who lives in the greater Kendall County area knows that you like horses. Strangely, you have a particular penchant for black horses. Your dad and I discovered that the carousel at the mall is an awesome incentive for you because it has horses. To ride! More specifically, a black horse. “My black horse,” you call it. You do have a very clear understanding that those horses are not real horses, that you are “not big enough” to ride a real horse. You so wisely tell us that, “When I get bigger, I will ride a black horse.”



That doesn’t stop you from asking for a real horse, though. I like to think that one of my best calls as a parent this year was to inform you that Santa Claus does not deliver live animals. Not only did that put a stop to the real-horse-for-Christmas requests, it pretty much negated any future requests for any other furry/scaly, eating and pooping creatures. Go Momma! Unfortunately, you’re too clever for your own good. You’ve given up asking Santa (or the Easter Bunny) for a horse and have gone straight to the source – Momma and Daddy. The excuses we give don’t seem to hold much water for you: that we don’t make enough money, that the home owners’ association wouldn’t allow it, that we don’t have enough room, etc. To curb your appetite, I’ve found myself taking more and more circuitous drives home to make sure we pass at least one ranch or pasture full of horses.

Thank goodness for the housing slow-down.

Have I mentioned that you tell us about things? If there is anything that defines your third year it is the talking. From the moment you get up to the moment we put you to bed – okay, even after we put you to bed – you are talking about something. And true conversation. Complex sentences. Fifty-cent vocabulary. All of it. There is not a week that goes by that your dad and I don’t look at each other and say, “Did she really just say that?”



I am not sure where you get some of it, but school has had a definite impact. When you sat down at dinner several months ago and said, “Mangia! Mangia!” I couldn’t believe my daughter was speaking Italian, all thanks to the adorable mealtime routine you learned (to say nothing of the Spanish and Mandarin you’ve picked up from Noggin). If I have to hold down a job – and, honestly daughter, I do, for reasons way beyond financial – it is an absolute comfort to me to know that you love school. The relationships that you have developed there are so wonderful for you, both with your teachers and your little friends. And you are learning so darn much, I can’t stand it sometimes. Just a week ago, you moved into the Preschool classroom. We knew this was coming, and in some respects it was hard simply because I knew how much you would hate to leave your “2’s” teacher. But as your mom, to walk into that Preschool classroom and see a classroom . . . and then to be told at the end of your first day that you are working on writing your letters . . . it was a bit much.

That transition was definitely a minor source of contention over the past six months or so. Would you be potty trained by your third birthday? Every time someone would ask me about potty training, I would heave a great sigh and proclaim, “Potty training is the bane of my existence.” I realize that all things come in time, kids have their own schedule, “No one’s gone to kindergarten in diapers,” and all, but you had me stumped. Your dad, too. We just didn’t get it. None of the tricks worked, nothing motivated you, and yet you are such a smart, independent little girl. Frustrating to say the least. And, honestly, I know some of my own issues were interfering. I worried that you would be like I was – chronic urinary tract infections, problems with wetting, endless antibiotics, endless doctor visits. (Now that I think about it, that may be one of the bigger challenges of parenting: getting over your own childhood issues.) But, guess what? You’re not in diapers anymore. You have made so much potty-progress in the last 2 months, it was like someone flipped a switch. Or maybe you decided you’d strung us along long enough.



Kiddo, I can’t recap the last year without a mention of the biggest development – you became a big sister. I’ll admit your dad and I are a touch proud of the way we prepared you for Owen’s arrival. You were involved practically from the moment we found out he was on the way. I wanted you to know that he was as much your baby as Mom and Dad’s, that you would have a very special role as big sister. You take that role very seriously and I’m so proud of you. You are gentle with Owen, you are attentive, and you are interested. I hope when you’re older you remember some of this time – how Owen will only “talk” to you, how you like to feed him in his high chair, how you show him how to roll or crawl, and even wipe up his spit. I know at some point he is going to annoy you. But, I hope the special relationship you two are forming now will run constant, even under the antagonism to come. Because it will come. And soon – he adores you so, as soon as he can walk I know he is going to be chasing after you. Be patient with him, honey.



I look forward to everything this next year will bring – even the inevitable frustrations, on both our parts. The world is just starting to open up before you, and I am so glad your dad and I get to come along for the ride. And, I promise, there will be a ride. On a horse. A black horse.

Love You,
Momma

4 Months

A month of Owen . . .

3 Months

Dear Owen,

We have been eagerly awaiting this day, little man – the day you would be three months old. It is probably a little silly and overly optimistic on our part, but we’ve been promised that the first 12-14 weeks are often the toughest and that once we cross that “fourth trimester” threshold we would have a new, cheerier baby. Your sister came through for us. And it’s starting to look like you will, too.

Over the past few weeks, you have snapped out of being a grumpy old man. Rather, you are a chatty, squealing happy boy (most of the time). The noises that come out of your throat very often still threaten my precious crystal wine glasses. Truly ear-splitting and almost at a level only dogs can hear. I don’t know how you do it, and we’re trying not to encourage it (it’s hard not to laugh), but so much more bearable because the emotion behind it is joyful or silly. And your attempts at laughter make me giggle – a hearty “HA!” pushed out from your belly with a giant grin.



Boy, do you love to talk. You’re still not much interested in toys – you certainly have the capability to grasp rattles and teething rings, but don’t make an effort to. What you are interested in are people. Faces and voices. You can sit and chatter with me (or Gram) upwards of 10 minutes straight. That’s a long time for a little baby. You are already proficient at mimicking the rhythm of language. It’s adorable, coupled with the faces you pull. Sometimes, whatever you’re saying, you are very serious about. Probably, “I really think it’s getting time to eat. It would be in your best interest to feed me now, mother. I’m not kidding.” But, mostly, you seem to just be making fun of us and our efforts to make you smile.



Recently, I’ve started plopping you in front of the bathroom mirror as we get ready for your nightly bath. You absolutely light up when you see the “other baby” looking back at you. You “laugh” and smile and babble. Until you notice your feet, of course (those are much more interesting and much more useful, in your opinion). But it’s your sister who really seems to have caught your attention of late. You love Zoë. The other night, we were sitting in her room before bedtime. She was galloping around the room, dancing to “Run Around Kid”, and your head was on a swivel. You were tracking her like a lion tracks a gazelle, so interested in what she was doing. Then she stops and turns your way and you just beam. She was giving you kisses the other night, and I just busted up at your reaction. By the second kiss, you started pushing out your lips as she leaned in, then smiling between every kiss.



For all your wonderful moments (of which we’re completely grateful), you still confound us with your insistence on not sleeping during the day. Or, rather, not sleeping by yourself. You’ll still happily fall asleep, and take hour-long naps, in our arms. But, try to put you down and “WAH!” – the screaming starts. We’ve resorted to using all sorts of contrived methods to get you to nap. Like, taking you for car rides. Or putting you in your car seat on top of a running dryer. Someday you may question our wisdom in this, perhaps when you’re denied a driver’s license because you can’t not fall asleep in a moving car. Sorry about that. But, you’re a nicer baby when you’ve slept.

The rapidity with which you are growing (and changing) is astounding. I’m sitting here looking at a picture of you taken just a month ago. You’ve already outgrown the little creeper you’re wearing in the photo and your hair is now poking out all over as it gets longer. You are about the size of an average six-month-old (crazy). We’re definitely proud of our growing boy – you eat so well, you’re growing so well – but your size does pose some problems. You are getting pretty good with head control, you push up really well on your tummy, and have even started rolling over. But, you’re still three months old. Most six-month-olds can sit on their own, and may be starting to crawl. In other words, they’ve got a lot more physical control, independence and can support more of their own weight. So, holding you, fitting you in your sling, your bouncy-chair, even carrying you in your car seat is a regular challenge. And, honestly, I think you agree because you seem awfully frustrated at times to be so limited in what you can do (I swear, the other night, you tried to push yourself into a crawling position – whoah there, Chief).



Winter is still holding on with a death grip, but we’ve had a few warmer days when I could get you outside. We took a walk in the stroller, Zoë pedaling along on her tricycle, and you thrust your arms up in the air feeling the breeze. Your better mood, your interest in everything makes me so anxious for spring and summer when we can get out and play. We are going to have a blast, I promise you.

Love Always,
Momma

Four Weeks

Dear Owen,

Happy 1 Month Birthday!! Once again, I have to say it: where does the time go? Your dad and I were talking about the last time we had Chinese Kitchen yesterday and he felt like it was a month ago. I said, "No. We've had Owen for a month. It's been at least 2." Whoah.



The last couple of weeks have been absolutely insane for our family, but you have hung in there like a real trooper. First 1,000-mile road trip? Check. First memorial service? Check. First family reunion? Check. First illness? Check. Your dad and I have learned some valuable parenting lessons in the past 2 weeks, but we are so grateful for your generally laid-back attitude. A fussier baby, and I may be writing this post from a comfortable room at Linden Oaks rather than my computer desk.

Mostly, we learned that a major road trip with a 2.5-week-old is not a great idea. It was very important to me that we get to Branson for your GrandDaddy Bob's memorial service. I figured we would have a harder time with Zoe than you - at what other point is a baby so portable? But, we didn't count on you refusing to sleep in the Pack & Play. Or the futility of trying to socialize when you want to eat every few hours. (Granted - I have no problem with nursing in public. But, I know my father and brothers aren't too comfortable with it, so we did try to keep it private. I'm so accommodating!) It was a rough 3 days. But, despite all the trials, you held up remarkably well. Let's just wait until you're a bit older to try that again.

Getting sick is something you have apparently mastered, as well. It seems that when you get sick, you go all the way. What Daddy and I are left wondering is how our kids got so tough! Barely a fuss from you, no apparent indications about what might be wrong . . . just a lot of sleeping. You seem to already be on the mend - you're back to eating every 3 hours, you're even sleeping in your crib now. Such a strong little man!

Of course, you're hardly little. At the doctor's office yesterday, you weighed in at 10 pounds, 15 ounces. Nearly 11 pounds! At one month old! I won't dispute that you like to eat, and there is still nothing more important to you. We haven't yet gotten a lot of awake time from you, but it is now obvious why: you're too focused on growing. But the times you are awake, you are such a doll. Just content to sit and look around. I was even able to wrap some presents today while you laid peacefully on a blanket on the floor next to me. You only started to fuss after nearly 20 minutes, and then, once I changed your vantage point, you were content again. Guess you just got bored with that side of the room.

Daddy and I both hope you're feeling well enough to get into the Christmas spirit tomorrow. You won't remember a thing about this Christmas, but it is your first and your family is so anxious to share it with you. Merry Christmas, Little Man!



Love,
Momma

2 Weeks

Dear Owen,



Two weeks have absolutely flown by. If I thought the time went quickly with your big sister, I would have been wrong. That wasn't fast. This is fast. I've found myself counting backwards to really remember how long it's been since you joined our family.

The past two weeks have been, honestly, fairly enjoyable. You have surprised us with how mellow, regular and sleepy you are. I've read the parenting websites, I've read the books, and I've come to learn that this is how newborns are supposed to behave in the first couple of weeks. Your dad and I just didn't realize that Lippoldt babies behaved like average babies.

While we are still waiting to get to know you - because you're much more interested in growing at the moment - your big sister Zoe just adores you. When she gets home from school, the first thing she asks is "Where is Owen?" When you cry, which is rare, she asks what is wrong with a note of concern in her voice. She loves to give you kisses and strokes on the head. I will have to apologize now, though, for the torture you may receive if you keep your lovely hair. Zoe is just in this hair styling phase, and she's already brushing your hair each time we do a diaper change. Poor little man.

You are so calm and laid back right now, but it's hard to be otherwise when all you do is eat and sleep. Grow, baby, grow! You've packed on nearly 2 pounds in the past two weeks (after losing about half a pound the first two days). No wonder, with the crazy amounts you are eating. It is a miracle my body can keep up!

Daddy and I have truly enjoyed snuggling with you over the past 14 days and, while we hope you continue to be a major snuggle-bunny, we really look forward to getting to know you a bit better. At the least, we'd like to see if your eyes are still blue!

Love,
Momma

13 Months

Dear Zoë,

Spring has finally arrived – to stay – and we have spent every possible minute basking in the outdoors. Your winter coat has been carefully tucked away, never to be worn again (by you, anyway) and bare feet are the order of the day.

Slap! Slap! Slap!

Hearing that noise, padding around the house, simply makes me smile. Especially when you’re giggling. Which you do a lot lately. Now that you’re steadier on your feet, you’re really picking up speed and you rather enjoy being chased. “I’m gonna getchoo!” I’ll cry, and you tear away from me squealing. Slap! Slap! Slap!



You also continue to demonstrate how much you are your mother’s daughter. Are you tired of hearing that, yet? I couldn’t be more delighted, though, that you want to be outside as much as I do. You can almost reach the door knobs (or pulls, in the case of the back door) and the sight of you standing tiptoe reaching with all your might is enough to tell us it’s time to go outside. The other day I was getting you ready for another playdate with Eleanor (OK, it was actually a Momma playdate) – you had on your hat, your shoes, and your sunscreen. You were standing by the back door when I told you it was time to go. You didn’t understand that I was trying to lead you outside, just through the garage, and you started to cry. You were fighting me to get to the back door: “Outside, Momma! PLEASE!” It was both funny and, frankly, frustrating (we were late!).



This past week Gram and Granddad had to go visit GGMO and Granddaddy Bob, so you got a couple of real treats: you got to stay home all day and you got to spend it with your Dada and Uncle Dave. You gave your Uncle Dave a couple of excellent life lessons. In fact, your timing was impeccable. No sooner had Dada left for work, but you woke from your nap with a full load. And I’m not talking laundry. Uncle Dave hadn’t even gotten a diaper lesson, yet. That’s my girl!

I know your Dada loved having all that time to spend with you – time he very rarely gets because he works so hard. I’ll admit I was jealous hearing that you learned to enjoy being read to. As we were both putting you to bed one night, you grabbed a book and literally climbed into Dada’s lap. You wanted him to read to you and, when he started, you sat and listened. You didn’t squirm away, you didn’t try turning the pages. I was surprised to see you looking so attentive – and so grown up! Imagine my surprise to hear you’d been doing it all week.



I guess you can slow down after all.



Love,

Momma

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

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

9 Months

Dear Zoë,

When I think back to my life 18 months ago, I never could have predicted or expected any of this. I was anxiously awaiting your arrival, but I really didn’t know (couldn’t know) anything about you. Anything except that you thoroughly enjoyed kicking and stretching against my sides. I thought I was tired then – Ha!

Over the past month, you’ve continued to grow into this willful, independent, funny little person. I feel absolutely grateful that I have been home with you the past week, albeit completely wiped out and ready from a real vacation. You learn something new every single day. It’s amazing. I had no idea that this is what it would be like to be a parent watching your child grow up.



My biggest joy, though, is when you sleep. Over the past month, Dada and I have had to come to terms with the fact that you are rapidly becoming a toddler. If anyone ever asks me how to train for a marathon, I’m going to tell them, “Take care of Zoë for a couple of days.” You have more energy than any of us know what to do with (that I knew from carrying you). And you’ve got to use it up now, “Before it runs out, Momma!” You’ll crawl if there’s no other choice, but you’d really love for us to hold your fingers and run you around the house. Most recently I’ve discovered that if I say, “Go Zoë! Go, go, GO!” you scurry your feet as fast as they can carry you.

Oh, my aching back!

The sleep, though, is great all around. You usually fuss a little bit when we leave you, but you quickly settle yourself down (sometimes after playing a bit with your mobile or crib mirror). When you wake up, you are almost always smiley and happy to see us. Just yesterday when I came in to get you from a nap, you were playing with your mobile (you’ve learned all about the buttons to turn it on!) and so eager to show me what you could do. “Look Momma! I can turn it off! And on! And off, again!”



I think the biggest change we’ve seen in you, aside from quickly learning how to motor around independently, has been how engaging you are. You’re discovering the world for the first time, and now you want to share it with us. Or anyone who’ll listen! “Hey, look at that!” Or, “What is this?” When we carry you around, your finger is constantly pointing at something – anything. You point at pictures in books, hand me toys or objects you’ve picked up, and smile and babble at strangers in restaurants.



You are still absolutely fascinated by other children. At Christmas, you thought your second cousins were the neatest thing since single-serve cottage cheese. You were crawling all over them to give them kisses, and trying to help them with their presents. I’ve started taking you to Gymobree, and the first day you followed around this little girl (about 3 months older than you) who was the fastest crawler I had ever seen. You watched all the other babies play and climb and toddle around. In fact, anytime we are anywhere you see another kid your eyes are glued on them.

I think that’s how you learned to climb the stairs.



We are in so much trouble.

Love,
Momma