Sunday, December 7, 2014

Littlest: seven months



Dear-heart,

This is once again late but you are now seven months. You are strong, determined and a complete cuddle-up-agus. You are now very steady in your sitting and beginning to pivot and wriggle around in tummy time, covering far too vast a space with great determination. On occasions, your little backside goes up and I fear crawling approaches. I am in no way prepared for this.

You pull yourself to standing with the bars of your cot and the little play pen your Nana and Grandpa have for you. You are immensely proud of yourself when you do this and look around for acclaim, which tends to come.

Now you are preparing to crawl you are getting your first inklings of 'stranger-danger' or really 'you're-not-my-mummy-itis'. People you would have gone to quite happily last week you now tremble your lip at and reach for me. While I understand in evolutionary terms this is a necessary thing (once a baby starts moving of their own volition I quite see it's important they still stay close to their mama) it is still a little hard and badly timed re. our travels. I am hopeful that it will only really happen when you're tired of an evening.

You have one sharp little tooth and I suspect another is on it's way. You still stick your tongue out with great frequency and continue thinking it is the cleverest thing and of course it remains very adorable but I do worry about it now that you have a tooth.

You are talking with great volume, at great length, with great enthusiasm but no discernible sense. "A-goo!" is common. As is "DehDehDeh!"

You remain enraptured with your brother and sister and give them great belly-deep giggles - the kind the rest of us work at with raspberries and tickles, toe-rhymes and funny faces - they get for just existing and appearing.

Your sister loves you and plays with a heap, if perhaps not particularly gently. You are hauled hither and thither with little concern for your dainty-baby state. She loves to get into your cot or playpen with you and give you big kisses. Your brother views you with tolerant affection.

You still believe day-naps are for wimps and will only catch five minutes on odd, occasional days, generally in the car or while you are milk-drunk after a feed, waking as soon as I try to put you in your cot. On the other hand, you sleep well at night as long as I am no more than five centimetres away.

We are in the midst of moving at the moment. We've left our Gippsland home - your first home (I was a bit teary when we drove away, and then again when we came back five minutes later to gather up forgotten chargers.) You kids and I won't be going back but your Daddy will return to pack up and fix up before we sell it. Let's not talk about the packing. Let's really not.

When I was just a little older than the Sprocket we left the first house I remember living in, in inner-city Melbourne. A friend gave me a necklace of blue plastic and when it broke the same day I carefully placed beads from it in the dust of all the corners for 'future generations' to unearth and wonder upon. Oddly, we moved to the outer suburbs via Scotland as well - my brothers and mama and I spending nine months in Aberdeen while your Grand-daddy researched for his Ph.d over in Dublin. We visited him over the Summer holidays and I have so many memories from that time. I do wonder how much your brother and sister will remember of our trip.

Today we prepare to fly up to Queensland - our move official. Your Daddy is already there, having driven up over the weekend to prepare the way. It was such an amazing relief to hear his (very tired) voice when he arrived - I spent the entire time imagining horrific crashes (being of a cheerful disposition of late).

But he has arrived and we are about to arrive. Your nana and grandpa's living room is presently full of suitcases and you are crowing merrily in the curve of my arm ('A-da!') as I type one handed and you reach for the keys. Your brother is building lego on the floor, your nana is playing christmas carols and your sister is practicing pulling her suitcase, which is nearly twice her size.

Littlest, we head up North today, your Daddy's degree finally finished, his internship set to start in just over a month. Balmy seas and frangipani are on the agenda.

Hello my little tropical-toddler-to be!


2 comments:

  1. I only said to my doctor last week " these seven months have flown compared to the whole pregnancy!"

    My lady likes to stick her tongue out too. And blow raspberries that cover her face with spit.

    It's a beautiful age.

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  2. Hasn't it gone like a blink of an eye! The tongue sticking out cracks me out - and the drooly raspberries are delicious! I wish it could last another year! (maybe without the sharp teeth!)

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