Dear Henry,
Lucky Thirteens: You started sleeping through the night this month, magically, on your own. Patience won out in the end––which is really quite something for both your father and me. (You’ve taught us a lot over these months, too.) Of course we’re not completely in the clear yet. You have been up and ready to rumble at 5 or 5:30 am most days this month. But, on a few lucky occasions, I’ve brought you into bed for a drink, and instead of sticking your fingers in my nose and pulling my hair and trying to pull the pictures off the wall above the bed (which is what you normally do), you actually fall asleep, curled up in tiny ball at my side. This morning you stayed there until 8:30. I like to get up and run in the mornings (I suppose that’s the bright side of having a built in alarm clock one room over––it’s hard to skip), but there is *nothing* better than having you sleep next to me in the late hours of the morning. I’ll take what I can get!
It’s a lot more fun to feed you now that we don’t have any foods left on the “Forbidden” list. I can finally cook you scrambled eggs, the best finger food ever! When I turn on the burner, you stop everything, look up at the flame, look at me, and say, “hot, hot, hot.” Then you climb up my legs for me to pick you up, and when I do, you start trying to blow out the flame. You’ve even started saying, “hot” and making blowing sounds when you see a candle, regardless of whether it is lit or not. It’s funny how one day you just wake up and start doing something new and doing it over and over again. Like one day this week you decided puzzle pieces are not just fun to eat—you can actually take them out and put them back in again! You still like to throw balls around and play chase and sift sand. You like to knock down towers, put bowls over your face, and walk your highchair around the kitchen. But month-to-month, you are always interested in cooking and food, art books (with bright colors), pictures of babies, and music.
Your stranger anxiety seems to be peaking again, which is normal for this age. Your Nana came to visit, and when you heard her voice for the first time (you had your back turned and were busy playing with the dog bowls), you dropped to the ground and froze. You did not turn around. It was as though you thought if you got close enough to the ground you might actually disappear into it and all would be well again. Poor guy. Loud noises are really scary, too. Earlier this month I took you along with me to a photo-shoot for work, and when those flashbulbs started going off, you burst into tears. You wrapped your arms around my ankles and petted and kissed my feet and for the duration of the shoot. I’m stealing this line, but it works for us, too: You’re our sensitive thug.
Love,
Mama
