Letter to a Nine Month Old

Dear Ameli

I was just reading through the letter I wrote you last month and it feels like just last week I wrote it, but reading it back now, it seems like you were a small baby then.

I don’t really know where to start with this month. Your great-granny from South Africa came to visit with your uncle from Australia. You smiled at them, but preferred to be with me, at first. It only took a few days, though, and you were as much at ease with them as with Daddy and me. You and Granny got on really well. She whispered to you and you listened closely. She pretended to be the wind and you giggled. She rubbed noses with you and you squealed with glee.

Your Uncle Ziech loves you already too – he held you, played with you and you were so good with him. Relaxed and content. It made me happy. You lay with him in the mornings. Actually, you crawled all over him and sometimes jumped on him, but he accepted it. He threw you up in the air and you squealed again. You loved it.

You are developing so well, my Beauty. Your third and fourth teeth (the top front ones) came out while we were camping in Belgium. I was so proud of you – some people in the campsite came to me to tell me how impressed they were at how quiet you were. Teething, excited and well behaved. I guess when you’re surrounded by so much love and attention there is no need to cry. That and rescue remedy. (We took our own bedding so that it would be familiar to you).

I have to be fast to keep up with you now days. You scoot all over the place. You crawl as fast as I walk. You walk like a drunk person, but holding a hand, or a leg, you walk. Sometimes we give you a finger to hold and you walk us to where you want to be. It melts me. I have to remind myself you’re only nine months old.

We went to France, Belgium and Holland and in the UK to Cambridge, Stratford on Avon and Oxford and you have been so good. Everywhere we go people love you. You smile, you grab their hands, try to touch their faces.

You don’t know that we’re never supposed to make eye contact. You don’t know that we don’t smile at strangers. You don’t know that we sit quietly on public transport and stare ahead of us, wishing the time away. Not you. You make friends, you ‘chat’ to people with your da-da-da, your wa-wa-wa and since the 27^th, your ma-ma-ma.

We stayed in a hotel last week and you crawled into the nightstand. You began crying as you couldn’t get out. I knelt down at the edge of the bed and called you to come to me. You put one tentative hand out and felt ground. You retracted. You looked at it. You looked at me. You put your hand down again. You moved out. You crawled to me and my heart swelled with foolish, ridiculous, mommy pride.

You crawled to the nightstand and climbed in again.

It made me laugh.

I left you home with Daddy and Granny last Saturday. I was nervous, but it turned out okay. You didn’t even miss me, but had a great day with them. I, however, had to shower so that I could hand express milk! I missed you. But I had a lovely time with lovely ladies.

Yesterday we went to a conference. It was called CyberMummy and was for all those mothers who write blogs too. We had a great time, and the reason I’m noting it down for you was because I want you to know how proud I was of you. It was a long day, a noisy day and there was so much going on. There were so many people and you really struggled to nap, but you were so very good. People came to you to coo over you, talk to you and tell you how beautiful you are. You smiled at them. You grabbed their fingers. You touched their faces.

People came to me to tell me how amazing you were. They told me how well behaved you were. Even one of the organisers came to me to compliment me on you.

All I could say was that you are a testament to natural attachment parenting. But my heart swelled. I wanted to hug you and kiss you and thank you.

You have been the most fantastic journey of my life. You have changed everything I thought about love, about what love is, about how much I could love.

And this is only the beginning Little One! We’ve spent 18 months together, as you’ve grown from a Button to a baby to a little girl. We have so many more to come. Years of being mother and daughter, years upon years for me to love you, for me to watch you grow, watch you change, watch you become a woman.

I have so much more to say, but fear you will be bored by my ramblings, but my Blessed Child, the love I have for you overflows sometimes and presents itself as tears from my eyes.

I am so blessed by you. I am so honoured to have you. I adore you. Your hands, your face, your smile and your most precious, most beautiful eyes.

Good night, my Beauty

Dream sweetly.
I love you.

Mommy