Tangled Up in Scout

Dear Scarlett,
Let me paint you a picture: It is 7am. A 32-year-old woman takes a cup of tea and walks down a long hallway in her pajama bottoms and a sweater. She has a scratch mark on her forehead, and two bite marks in the shape of tiny horseshoes on her arm. She is wearing glasses that have baby fingerprint smudges on them. This is your mother, a person who is confused about how she has come to be a woman in her 30s when she stops to think about it, because she still has graspable memories of Capture the Flag and performing emergency operations on ants with pine needles (of this she is not so proud.) She can remember a time when she decided she would name her 4 children Opal, Ruby, Emerald and Diamond and when she thought that there were only 5 possible occupations in life: author, teacher, lawyer, doctor, actor. She wanted to be an author.

The reason your mother looks like she had a fight with a small, angry animal is because she brought you to bed with her at 4:45am. You were doing the "sad cry" and she just couldn't bear it anymore, even though you probably only did it for less than 2 minutes before switching to an annoyed whine that is easier to ignore. After you nursed for a while, you decided to start biting and thrashing around, and your mom was too, too tired to do anything but lie there and hope you fell asleep. Which eventually you did.

Do you want to know more about her? I can tell you that she sometimes shares too much information. For example, she is currently treating a nasty case of athlete's foot that she likely picked up at either the nail salon or the yoga studio. See? She has a job that was not one of the original five, and on most days she likes it very much. She has been knitting you the same pink scarf since before you were born.

It's not the most glamorous picture, I agree, but it describes me today. You should also know that I actually wash my glasses every day, though it doesn't seem to make much difference. I probably need a new yoga mat. I normally don't let people bite me.

And I love you.
Mom

First Christmas

Christmas Eve

Winter

Places to go

Paper tastes better than blueberries

Dear Scarlett,
You had your 9-month appointment with Dr. Becker yesterday. After getting weighed (18 lbs 12 oz) and measured (28.5 inches), you sat on the exam table and ripped the paper covering to shreds. You then put several of those shreds in your mouth and refused to open it until you had swallowed them. When the doctor came in, I believe my exact words were, "Well, we suck at this." He just laughed.

You got a flu shot and barely noticed, then crawled around on the floor, seeking out all electrical outlets and laughing at the doorstop. "Gets 'em every time," said Dr. Becker. He told us that you will be walking early, before you are a year, and that you will love it. I can't wait to see.

We also found out it is time for more food, more often. So today you had your first official "lunch" of chicken, peas and sweet potatoes. I tried to get you to eat a blueberry afterwards, and you did, but not without "dramatic gagging"--Aunt Lizzie's words.

You learned how to clap your hands this week, and will now crawl down the hall, stopping every so often to clap for yourself. You are also making some animal noises: "hoo hoo" is your version of "woof woof", and you do a great baby monkey impression.

This is all perfect timing for our trip to Chicago next week, where you can show off all your new tricks!

Love,
Mom

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