Dear Sophia,
It’s hard to believe, but eight months have already passed since you joined us earth-side. Eight months. I don’t know why, but there’s something about that number that seems so much closer to one year than last month did. It feels like you grew up overnight.
You are still sweet and adorable, but first some complaints …
The 30 minute naps. Come on, sister. Over Christmas break, when Mr. Gearhead or I had the luxury of lying down with you, you would sleep 2 to 3 hours. But on your own? Thirty minutes, on the nose. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there happens to be another child living in this house. Yeah, that one – the loud, obnoxious, 3.5 year old. As much as I would love to take two naps a day with you, it just ain’t gonna happen. You’re going to have to figure this out. We’ll all be a lot happier for it.
The burping. You’ve had eight months of practice, so I don’t know why this is still so hard. No one likes being up with you for a half hour to an hour every time you nurse at night just so you can get your burps out and we can all go back to sleep. I admit I have seen some (slight) improvement in the last few weeks, but still. Nurse, burp, sleep. It’s pretty simple.
The nursing. Not the frequency, although I wouldn’t mind if you reverted to your 3-month-old-ways and went an 8-10 hour stretch at night. No, it’s how you nurse. Your sister drove me mad with the side-switching, and at least you aren’t doing that. Instead, you just like to pop off. And on. And off. And on. And off. And on. Say, 35 some-odd times – and that’s just in the 4 minutes before I have my letdown. You swing your head in the opposite direction, kick your feet in a little “Where’s my milk?!?!” temper tantrum, and then re-latch. Over and over and over. And over. News flash! The milk will come faster if you stay on.
Beyond that, my dear, you are simply divine. You have the sweetest, happiest personality, even when you only get two 30 minute naps a day. Your smile is always at the ready, and you positively delight people everywhere we go. You love your sister with abandon – something that causes her a fair amount of consternation, since you are wont to follow her everywhere and get into what she’s doing. The two of you together keep me on my toes.
You are still a gross motor machine. You started crawling at 5 months, pulling up at 6, cruising at 6.5 and you now do all three with lightning speed. And thank goodness you finally figured out how to safely get back down onto your hands and knees. We had a few weeks with lots of head bonks and crying. I am glad that’s over.
You are also an incredibly tactile child. You love to touch and fondle things – first and foremost, my hair. This is how you put yourself to sleep – twisting, turning, tugging and yanking your fingers through my hair. I fought this for a while (it’s already falling out fast enough without your help, thankyouverymuch), but I have finally given in, and am patiently waiting until your own hair is long enough to act as a stand in.
And good lord child, do you love food. You’ll eat anything I put in front of you. We tried grapefruit the other day … you shoved it in your mouth, screwed your face up in surprise and hastily ejected it. Then picked it up and put it back in. You proceeded to eat half a grapefruit. And then ¾ of a banana. It’s not uncommon for you to eat more than your sister. And then nurse. Have I mentioned that you weigh 18 pounds and are moving into 12 month clothing?
In short, my dear, you embrace life with gusto. You are fully present for every moment, and extract every drop of joy and goodness and sometimes sadness too. You are an ever-present reminder for me to do just the same. Thank you.
Love,
mama