Seven Month Marker

My dear child,

Last weekend you turned seven months old and I celebrated by dragging your tiny ass out to the country on a trip that took an hour each way. Hanging out at Malcontent Mama’s birthday hoedown was great fun as we sat on a blanket among the tall trees, the adult kneecaps, and the sugar-hypered older kids. I found that you love Nature as much as I do when you giggled and squirmed with delight while petting a horse and Shakespeare, the wiener dog. You crunched leaves in your small hands and dug in the dirt like a stationary badger. You patted the tree trunks like a reassuring arborist. I am happy to know you can be outside and not be overwhelmed by its vastness and constant activity. The ride home was a total nightmare as you screamed and cried for 45 minutes. My heart broke in to a million pieces but I couldn’t see the point of pulling over and torturing you with the notion that even if I took you out of the carseat to console you, you would eventually have to go back in again. Needless to say, you were immediately reassured when we got home and subsequent jaunts on the road haven’t phased you. No scaring yet.
















Speaking of nature, you are a probably a grackle’s biggest fan and thanks to the bird’s daring personality, you are able to view them up close as they vie for the food on our plates in outdoor settings. They mesmerize you and the rest of the world around you vanishes when you lock in on one. The other day as you were patiently waiting for me to get my crap together to take you on a walk, I spied you about to tumble out of the stroller as you strained to watch a honey bee fly from flower to flower in a clover patch in the yard. You moved your head in tiny jerks as it raced the small distances between them. I laughed so hard from behind the front door.


Unfortunately, your Alabama nanny has moved on to higher paying pastures. We miss her silliness and tremendous desire to entertain you. She has since been replaced with a sweet, young hippy mama from the northeast. The bonus is her 8-month-old son, Finnegan, who she brings along. The two of you playing together is a sight to see. Who can bang the loudest? Who can coo the longest? Who has the most interesting toy? Whose snack taste better? I think this arrangement will work out for now and I am happy to know you have a pint-sized buddy in your orbit.








You have consistently fought off offerings of baby food so we have moved on to people food with awesome results. Bring on the hummus, avocado, yogurt, and bananas! Toss in some fresh peas, Wagon Wheels, and oatmeal. You make your own unique yummy sound with each bite and gobble eagerly while still leaving room for a cozy boob nosh.

You are sitting up like a champ but crawling eludes you. I thought for sure that Finnegan’s ability to move about the room would inspire you but you are too busy flirting with the new sitter. You can stand forever and prefer to do so but walking isn’t on your radar yet. Your parents are not in any hurry for you to be mobile so no rush. You will play by yourself for marathon periods of time but when that time is up, you are all about hiring the parental sherpa. You are more vocal about your desires and the irritated sounds you make seem to mean many things. At some point, you figured out how to scream like a girl really loud. Mommy doesn’t like that so much.

Your parents are going to introduce you to the Ferber Method this weekend because you aren’t sleeping so well anymore and Mommy is tired of climbing the stairs 3 or 4 times a night to tend to your imaginary needs. Of course, there are times when your cries are for good reason but lately you’ve been crying wolf way too much. We’ll see how it goes. Hopefully we will all be snoozing peacefully. A full night’s sleep would be a wonderful early birthday present from you.




















I know that my whole world revolves around every inch of your being and I am grateful to be able to feel that way. Thank you for the past seven months, darling son. I look forward too much, much more.

Love,
Mommy