Eleven months is suddenly seeming so old.
You’re crawling fast and pulling to stand. You hate the feel of grass on your legs but in the name of exploring you crawl on hands and feet to conquer the yard. You gleefully destroy entire clumps of grass.
You laugh so hard at your daddy knocking you over with his head. You think everyone is here to visit you, and if they don’t recognize that they’re here to visit you, you’ll climb right over them and inform them. You never stop chatting and singing. You still don’t have any teeth.
You have three moods: I’m hurting/hungry/screaming, I’m pretty tired by still vaguely smiley, and I’m happy happy happy. The third one is your 96% of the time mode.
You’re still not the best sleeper and greet us (happily of course) most mornings at 6 and at least one or so mornings a week around 4:30 (in the hurting/screaming mode).
You busted your gums on a coffee table a couple days ago. Your first tooth is so so so close. You’ve got a cold. And suddenly you’ve refused your pacifier because of discomfort. I’m on board with that… I don’t want another thumb sucker nor do I want to go through another pacifier battle at 20 months. Oh, but how I want to hang on to that paci and let you just stay a baby a little longer…
You think some of life’s greatest moments are flipping the page of a book. Part of that is mimicking and part of that is your own special brand of meticulous. I fear by the time you’re two, that I’ll be watching in wonder as you take things apart and put them back together again.
You still adore me. I walk into the nursery after church and even if you’re crying tired, you light up with a smile so huge I have to squeeze all of your eleven month body so close to me.
I can hardly contain how much love you require. I explodes in squeezes and nibbles and kisses and wrestlings all day long. I don’t think you’d have it any other way.
Stay a baby just a couple more months, okay? I don’t think I’m ready for another toddler yet.