You're 10 months old now and one day, when you're bopping around as a teenager and you ask me to look back at your 10 month post (you won't ever do that, I just pretend in my mind that you will), I hope you can take one look at this picture and just GET IT.
Get that you were, at this age, a hilarious, witty, silly, mischievous, freaking gorgeous kid who can get away with anything because of those deep blue eyes and wispy perfect hair. I think you have some inner lion in you. Hear me out. You're a growler. You are feisty. But not in a "I cry a lot" feisty, because, that would be annoying and I won't use words like 'feisty' and 'spirited' to make that point. You just really don't cry much at all. You....well, you growl a little when you're being silly (no really), and you climb and crawl and sneak-attack ON EVERYONE with the biggest, cheesiest grin ever. You beat up, I mean, lovingly play with your big sister on the daily. It's hilarious to hear her whine about you pulling her hair for the 129308209th time that morning.
You can hold your own and I promise that trait will come in handy one day, so I don't squash it.
One day you suck at sleep, the next day you're decent. You are so confusing in that area, but I really don't care. This is where I'm thankful that I'm laid back about stuff like that, and I know you're gonna be a-ok and so will my sanity. When I hold your little chubby body on me at night I find myself thinking my god how has this little newborn gotten soooo big? You see, little girl, it's so strange to be, well, not the first kid. No offense or anything, it's just--that first kid? They had all eyes on them, all the time. Her babyhood seemed slower because I could watch every single moment.
But with you? I swear, I swear it just flies by. Thankfully I have moments each day where I sit and think a few things.
1) My goodness, you are breathtaking. Your sister will be jealous of your darker skin tone one day when you're getting nice tans at the beach and her beautiful fair skin fries at the sight of Mr. Sun. I apologize in advance for the fights this may cause.
2) Your eyes are so dark & sparkly blue, they literally captivate me. I pray that boys don't look too close because it makes me nervous. I can't go there. Shut up, Katie. Shut up.
3) Wait, why are you moving, again???? I get confused on the daily how you went from being a floppy newborn who had little neck control to free-standing in the middle of the living room while waving at me excitedly. It truly is this moment of I THOUGHT I JUST BIRTHED YOU YESTERDAY, SIT DOWN. Daily.
4) I should probably teach you something. Hear me out. You are learning, that is quite obvious. But it goes without saying, sometimes I forget to do important stuff with you. By this point in your sisters life, she knew baby sign
and how to count to ten in spanish . You know how to stare me down across the kitchen and give me the panicked look of MY TRAY IS EMPTY, WOMAN. Sometimes you bang your fists, too, and that means S.O.S. That's okay. We communicate, and that's all that matters in the end, right?
I think these things, and many others on the daily about you, kiddo. Sometimes I pick you up, just to squeeze your guts a little, and get a little love-squeal out of you, and I think how did I get so lucky with another beautiful, squishy kid? I have to bring myself back to reality and replay the fact that I have been there for it all. I lived through another pregnancy, all 9 months of being sick and feeling awful, and dressing a bump, and the pains of labor. I have to bring myself back so I don't get knocked up again because women forget the pains of carrying a baby and childbirth and that's why we keep having more. It's a real epidemic. I'm mostly kidding. But the truth is, you're still my baby and right now I really like it that way.
When you're a teenager and reading this (I'm still living in dream world), I hope you know that even though I'm fishing foreign objects out of your mouth all day (dude, this part is so much harder with an older kid), and even though you swallowed that tiny little doll shoe that one time, and even though it's likely I'll miss your first steps because I'm too busy putting sister in time-out again, that you know you were insanely loved. That you know that every time I look at you I feel this love ooze up in my heart. Your little smirk. Your toothy grin. Your wrist creases. The way you pinch my face when you're nursing (ouch). The shrieks that may make me have hearing aids one day. I loved it all. Well, most of it.
You are the perfect second kid. Perfectly slotted in our family. And also? I won the battle, and we call you Louie ALL THE TIME now. Even your daddy. I am sorry. I know it's a boys name. It's really cute though.