for caleb at eleven months

Dear Caleb,

You are nearly a year old now. In the coming weeks, when people ask how old you are, it will feel silly to say "he's eleven months," even though that is what you are. I will probably instead tell them "almost a year" because, considering how fast you continue to grow, that will be a more appropriate response.

Your personality has continued to blossom this month. To my great amusement (and Garrett's great displeasure), you've become quite the tease. Snatching toys from your brother and attempting to run off with them is not the way to win your brother's affection, but somehow your giddiness while doing so leaves you both rolling in laughter (once Garrett's screams of frustration subside, that is).

On the flip side, you've also developed a minor fear of abandonment. If I move into another room, and especially if the door closes behind me, you panic and wail and sob enormous alligator tears until I return and soothe your crying-induced hiccups. I hope for both of our sakes that this phase is short-lived.

You've become incredibly oral lately. Everything you see goes into your mouth. Which means I need to be quicker about sweeping the kitchen floor after a meal before you can take matters into your own hands and "human vacuum" it yourself. Your mouth has also become a handy storage space for toys you want to take with you across the room as you crawl to your next destination.

You're still only thinking about taking up walking as a permanent mode of transportation. Though you've become very well-balanced when you stand, every time you attempt to take an independent step, you fall, which has the unfortunate repercussion of keeping you from trying that again any time soon. You really are just around the corner from being a full-fledged walker, and I'm eager for you to figure this out. As much as I love you clinging to my legs all day long, it will be nice when you're no longer afraid to just let go.

Your imagination has taken flight. I often catch you pretending to feed Garrett's dolly a bottle, or pretending to talk on the phone by holding a toy up to your ear. You make car and airplane noises as you drive and fly them around the room. When it's time to clean up, I swear you are mimicking Garrett's version of the "Clean Up Song."

At the table you beg for more by grabbing my arm, then pointing to what it is you want. You clap your hands, play Peek-a-Boo, play the "mouth organ," and sometimes wave goodbye. You're becoming ever proficient on the kazoo. You can grow awesome punk-rocker hair faster than I can blink my eyes (which is why you went in this week for your second desperately needed haircut). Is there anything you cannot do?

Gosh, I love you, Caleb -- my almost-not-a-baby-anymore.

Love,
Mama