noah | eleven months

Dear Noah,

Today you are eleven months and two weeks old.  I'm not even going to pretend I'm writing this on time.  I tried.  I really did.  And every time I sat to write, I was either interrupted or the words didn't flow.  So, here I am.  Sitting at the kitchen bar with a lukewarm cup of coffee.  You just finished a breakfast of a scrambled egg, half a slice of wheat toast, and a handful of blueberries, and are now walking around the house saying, "Kitty, kitty, kitty" in your highest-pitched voice.

And I just had to take a five minute break to settle an argument between your sisters about who was allowed to sing what and when.  An argument I settled by turning on the Frozen soundtrack.  Again.

And now you are hanging off my legs.

As you can see, writing can be a challenge these days.  A challenge I'd be able to meet uninterrupted if I waited until after you were all asleep, but alas, my brain goes into sleep mode by that time.

Eleven months.  Your goals in the past month have been to walk faster, yell louder, and climb higher. You have succeeded on all counts.  And a newly acquired hop in your quick step tells me you really, really, really want to run.  You have mastered clicking your tongue and clapping.  You are in love with kitties and baby dolls and motorcycles and balls.  You are a people watcher, unafraid to stare at anyone, and almost always willing to give them a smile while doing so. You got your first motorcycle ride this week and you have shown you are unafraid of spiders, frogs, and earwigs.

You have a cold.  A gross, snotty cold that keeps you from breathing properly through your nose.  And as a result, you have completely weaned yourself.  Cold turkey.  I wasn't ready for that.  Really not ready.  You are supposed to be my baby and you repeatedly insist on gaining your independence.  I have tried many times over the past week to change your mind.  I have been unsuccessful.  And so, as of today, I will finally admit that I will never be able to nurse you again. Those were some of my most favorite moments with you every day, especially the quiet ones right before bedtime.  You still like to snuggle a little with me, but it just isn't the same.  I'm not sure if, as a boy, you'll ever recognize how special that time with you was for me, but I loved every minute of it and wish, so very much, that it wasn't over already.

As a consolation, you have started giving me big kisses.  They are often slobbery, but I'll take them.  You give the best hugs with big neck squeezes and patty-pats on my shoulder. And just a few times, you have said, "mamamamama"... finally.

After many, many interruptions for nose wiping and dancing and filling of sippy cups and removing the kitties from the counter too many times, we are at the end of the Frozen soundtrack. You are walking around "singing" Let It Go at the top of your lungs, because whatever your sisters do, you must do too.  And that means I have used up my allotted time for writing.

As always, you are my most very favorite little boy in the whole world.  Those big, green eyes of yours, that show so much love and mischief at the same time, will always be my favorite green eyes.

Love you,
Momma
xoxo