Macklin 10 months

My sweet baboo,

Ten months, and you're still not crawling. At least not crawling in a sense that would encourage someone to exclaim, "wow! He's crawling!" You drag and twist and writhe across the floor to get wherever you need to go, and usually, it's wherever your sister is working quietly, colouring or assembling the heads of Lego men into a sword of sorts.

"MACKLIN KICKED ME!"

I know you couldn't possibly be already bugging your big sister on purpose, but sometimes when I quietly explain to Lexi that you aren't aware that you're bothering her yet, I see that gleam in your eye. It's the same sparkle your dad gets when he pinches the back of my arm (ouch!) or gitchy-gitchy-goos your sister (thank you, Sandra Boynton, for Tickle Time.)

Your favourite word is now "no", although you're not really saying it, you're just shaking your head back and forth with a huge grin spread across your chubby cheeks. You flap your hands wildly when you want a bottle - and speaking of the bottle, you decided to wean yourself, and I'm NOT impressed. It's been five days of me trying to force breastmilk on you, but you aren't having it. I can't believe it. I always thought I'd make it to a year with you - if I hadn't have weaned your sister at 16 months, I guarantee she'd still be breastfeeding. Not to knock moms who breastfeed their toddlers, but definitely not for me. So I'm sad because that relationship is coming to an end, but you seem to want more legitimate snuggles rather than marathon feeding sessions, which I don't really mind.

But I'm still sad.

You were a little sad this month too, experiencing your first major tummy upset. You had a bout of about three days of throwing up, but you were always all smiles after mama wiped the spit from your face. How about the night you decided to puke all over mama at 11 pm, and daddy was in the garage so he couldn't come help? That was pretty fun. Or not.

Speaking of sadness, why is it that you're the happiest child, but as soon as Mama walks into the room, you melt into a puddle of sadness? You just fall apart at the seams, throwing your head forward until your forehead hits the floor. It's so, so sad. Sidebar: apparently you inherited your Mama's flexibility and not your Dada's.

Secretly, I don't mind. I know it means you love me. And I love you so, so much.

Love,

Mama