Dear Noah - 28 Week

Dear Noah,

Hello sunshine. You are now (lucky number) seven months old. Nearly a toddler, nearly a boy.

Your doctor, Doctor Chris Ibey said that you were perfect, he has no concerns with your development.

At your six month appointment, the one with the dreaded needles - the one that you handled like a trooper - your dad and I struggled not to brag about you.

We wanted to rant and rave about what a brilliant little person you you've become, that we're certain you're far above and beyond the development of a six month old.

And you are.

You try to walk now; have been for weeks now. To help you along, I bought you a pair of Converse-style shoes velcro straps.

Your tiny little hands grasp my fingers, as you shuffle one leg in front of the other. Sometimes you grin at Daddy or Auntie Keli, who's encouraging you to walk to them just a few steps ahead. Other times you cry in frustration; you're already like me, wanting to do it right, perfectly the first time.

We've noticed a tooth poking through your gums. It hasn't quite broken through, but your rosy cheeks indicate your not too far off from having your first tooth.

Your little personality is starting to shine through in a big way. You're a trickster, so smart and keen. If we leave your line of sight, you'll often whine or cry, but quickly forget about us if your favourite musical toy is within reach.

This last month you've taken to waking in the middle of the night, not for feeding any more (thank goodness), but for a chat with your "friends" in the inky darkness of your room. You coo, gurgle, gargle and squeal, raising your chubby legs straight in the air and let them fall with a thud on your bed.

You're a curious, nosey little man, so nosey in fact, that you fight sleep. Those gorgeous eyes of yours (fringed with long curling lashes) roll back in your head but fight with all your might to keep awake - in case you miss something.

Food has begun to rule your world and I love to watch you lean forward in your highchair, mouth wide (or lips pursed to slurp off the spoon) excited to eat. This month we've introduced green beans, mangos, granny smith apples and chicken to your diet - I've even snuck you a taste or two of Dairy Queen ice cream - a yummy treat.

Although you're changing rapidly, so quickly that I start writing these notes to you weeks in advance so that I can remember all you've done, I've been hanging on to what parts of you still remain my baby.

Most weekday mornings I now get up with you and have begun bringing a bottle with me. I call to you from the doorway: "Who's in here? Who's here?" You kick with excitement at the sound of my voice. Sometimes you cry, but you always reach out for me.

I pick you up and sit in your rocking chair and feed you. For a moment you're my baby again, you lie still in my arms, staring up at me in an innocent wonder, fingers curling around mine, or fisting my shirt in your hands. I whisper to you, songs, nonsense, love. I kiss your (still) fuzzy faux-hawk head, nuzzle your cheek against mine. I do that until your lips pull away from the bottle in a wide grin and you greet me with your good morning gurgle. It's now the best part of my day.

Love,

Mommy

xo

PS. Daddy wants me to tell you he says hi.