Nine Months.

Oh, Aves. Nine months. Each time I write to you I marvel at the passage of time and ask 'How can this be?' It's a trend I expect will continue, as it has for every parent before me, for the duration.

What a joyous month we've shared. You are vibrating with energy--busting out new skills each day. Making us glad and glad again that we get to share this life with you. The highlight reel:

• You are a total ham. Many a fuss session has been diffused simply by pointing the camera your way. 
• You clap, you grin, you babble, you recently learned you can squeal (a skill best practiced in the grocery store, bookstore, or otherwise public place with an echo.)You light up and give the most heart-melting full-body smile. And then you crawl on over to eat the camera.
• Speaking of crawling. Wow, you are fast. You may not be the most motion-motivated of babes, but when you do spy a dustball/cell phone/xbox controller/drawer pull that strikes your fancy, you move it, move it! Just after you were born we watched a fascinating documentary about the first year of human development. The scene that sticks in my mind most is a hilarious montage of wee ones showing off their locomotion style. Some scoot, some bear walk on all fours, others look like whirligig push toys with all limbs flailing as they gain ground. Like these babes, you have a style all your own and seem to swim across the floor. It's less army crawl, more belly-down butterfly and I wonder if you'll even bother to get your knees into the act since it's working so well for you without them. It may be straight to walking for you.
• Walking. I can't believe we're on the cusp. You are taking steps while we hold your hands. Each of us squealing with each shuffle. Chasing daddy seems to be the most exciting game we have going.
• I've reported every month on your hatred of the carseat. I guess it's such a defining characteristic because it contrasts greatly with your otherwise laid-back Rasta-baby vibe. I'm delighted (and a little bit terrified, lest I jinx it) to report that things seem to be looking up. Your ability to entertain yourself is expanding and between squeaking Sophie like your life depended on it and touching the music-playing mirror with your toes, we have expanded our radius to 20 minute cry-free trips. Knock. On. Wood.
• We took you swimming this month. It wasn't your first time--we went once when you were about five months--but this trip was far more enjoyable. All four limbs got into the act at once, you grinned ear-to-ear and laughed from your toes as you splashed. Then you laughed some more as the lap swimmers and kid taking lessons splashed. Who knew what a knee-slapper splashing could be!?
• We've muddled through the continued introduction of solids after afore-mentioned choke/gag got me all filled with fear and crazy. I mention it only because it's been such a defining struggle of this month for me. One I now have enough experience to know will pass. It's my first time feeling that my own fears may be holding you back, though I suspect this may not be the last. Despite the brave soul I aim to be in my mind, I tend toward trepidation at my core. I stick my toes in, then wade to my ankles and stand a good long while before testing whether or not I can swim. In my best moments, I welcome the challenge. In this case, you reward my bravery by proving that you can do it. Look, mom! Hey, I can chew. No big deal. And in those other moments, well, I'm human. 
• Favorite toys include your Peek-a-Who book (there's a mirror on the back page that never fails to elicit a grin), the bird toy with a bell in it, Sophie the giraffe, your music box car mirror and  pretty much any small object you can manage to get into your mouth (oh, the terror.)
• You continue to highlight the hidden joys that our adult-eyes would have otherwise tuned out. The way the leaves outside our kitchen window flutter, the smooth oscillations of the fan, the sound of a wooden spoon on a pan, the delight of warm bath water, the miracle of all the moving parts of our hands coming together to perform 'Itsy Bitsy Spider' yet one more time. It never gets old for you. And we're grateful, as you've made those things, and so much more, new again for us.