Dear Henry,
Today you are eleven months old! For the last two months, Jacob has been saying, with raised eyebrows and a look of disbelief, “He’s going to be a year old!” That milestone is creeping up. While I’m looking forward to celebrating it, it still blows my mind how much you’ve grown since last December.
You are starting to cruise around now, and you’d stand up if you could figure out how to get your feet under you. You’re very good at repeating what we say, from consonant sounds to, one time, “Question.” Daddy, Jacob, and I will say, “Achoo!” to get you to laugh, and after a while, you start saying it too. I’m not sure how much you’re saying with intention, apart from “Mama”—and “Daddy” once—but you are a chatty guy nonetheless. You sing at church, too, which the cantor thinks is adorable, but forces me to bring you to the back sometimes.
Every chance you get, you grab a ping pong ball or two. Once they’re in your hands, you won’t let them go. Months ago, I bought you a package of onesies in color “boy.” I couldn’t figure out why there was one with a raccoon in the midst of the dogs and trucks. Now I know. This is how you feel about your ping pong balls. When you crawl on the hard kitchen floor with them in your hands, I can hear you clicking along, like a terrier. Or a cyborg. A cute cyborg. But still.
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You are learning to sleep through the night, but it is taking longer with you than it did with Jacob. It’s fascinating that you are such different people in so many ways, but you are both sweet, loving, and very, very funny.
There is so much more I could write about how loved you are, but—in part because of the whole sleep-training thing!—I don’t have the brain power right now. Words couldn’t do it all justice anyway.
I love you with all my heart,
Mom
