India: Month tippy-toesy ten

Dear India,

You are now TEN months old.  I know you were nine months old last month, but somehow I still feel like ten snuck up on me.

You've started standing and cruising and boy howdy are you itching to walk. If we hold your hands you stagger along, doing what Nana calls the "whiskey walk." We showed Australian Builder and he called it something like toodleyboots, which is an adorable term for drunken walking.

The thing about you being so mobile now is that, well, you're so damn mobile. Nothing is safe or sacred, least of all your brother's toys. You adore him and want to be right where he is.

We've impressed upon him the importance of keeping the little things - tires and bits pulled off of cars, pennies, random treasures - up out of your reach, because you might choke.

Now he will say, "Mom! Mo-o-om! India wants to take one of the little things and choke!"

Of course, this morning he dumped a whole truckload of his little things on the floor near you. I don't believe his motives were pure, either, as he has been incredibly crabby lately. Pretty sure he'd have pushed you over if I hadn't been right there.

To be fair, however, he is often very sweet to you. And you beam and giggle when you're near him. You clearly adore him. And he loves being adored.

You squeal and squawk in delight at all kinds of things. Standing on the couch excites you no end. You side-step along, holding the back of it. You and Nana have a game, where you stand up and hold the back, and then flop yourself down onto the cushions. Stand, flop, stand, flop.

If she finds it tedious, she never says so.

You have one tooth that I have tried in vain to document. You're ridiculously good natured, but when you don't want to do something, you do. not. want. to! Such would be the case with wearing shoes, for example. Not happy. Notnotnot happy!

We've taken to sending you to day care barefoot (stuffed inside your puffy winter suit) because you take off your socks immediately anyway. Or you chew on them till they're soggy. And then take them off.

They recently informed us that you don't like it when other kids wear socks either. You do them the favor of removing them. I didn't think to ask if you chew on them first.

Sleep continues to be a struggle. By struggle I mean that dear Lord, after almost two years of not sleeping an entire night, I need, neeeeeeeed eight straight hours of sleep. For nights in a row.

You are down to one wake-up a night, at right around 3:30 am. You don't need to eat at this point - you're just AWAKE. And ENRAGED. And then you go back to sleep, but not before expressing your PROFOUND ENRAGEY ENRAGEMENT, ASSHOLES WHO WANT TO BE ASLEEP!

You're a great eater, love to feed yourself, and up for almost anything. In fact, one of your favorite foods is guacamole. You like it with eggs, you like it with broccoli, you like it on its own. You will shovel in spoonful after spoonful.

I understand - it's good stuff!

It is, however, a little odd to burp a sleepy, freshly-bathed baby, all sweet and smelling of baby lotion, and suddenly get a big whiff of garlic.

You're very much your own person. And I hope you always will be.

Love love love,

Mama