Month Eight

Dear Jack,

This week you turned eight months old and I have been putting off writing this letter because the month went by so quickly that I’m having trouble remembering any of it. I know that you have a second tooth that is sitting beside your first one now. How do I know? Well, besides being visible, I also got the pleasure of feeling it nip through my skin while breastfeeding last week. Being bit? Not so much fun. It’s very fortunate for you that you are so darn cute or you might be living with gypsies at the moment, because I will not lie, I did threaten to sell you to gypsies. I guess it’s also lucky for you that I don’t actually know any gypsies.

This past month you learned how to get yourself onto your hands and knees. It only lasts briefly, and you don’t know how to coordinate your arms and legs to gather any momentum, but I’m sure it will be soon. You seem to understand the notion of propelling yourself forward, but it mostly ends with you slamming your face into the floor. I’m going to guess that this is why you are not so keen on practicing this position.

It has gotten progressively harder to feed you over the past week. See, you have decided that YOU want to hold the spoon and put it in your mouth. But your aim isn’t very good and mostly the food just ends up in your lap. Your daddy was alarmed the other day when he came downstairs to find you sitting with just a diaper on in your highchair. He thought that I was torturing you. He understood my true intentions, though, when he came back in ten minutes to find you covered head to toe in peaches and oatmeal. Now my choice of attire for dinner was more apparent—it’s just easier to wipe you down after dinner without any clothes on.

As always, you have my heart. I love you so much, little bear.

Love,
Mommy and Daddy