Nine months in, nine months out

Dear Tolliver,
There are so many wonderfully magnificent things that make you perfect right now.  At nine months you're still new enough to know heaven, and you've brought it right into our house.

Tollie, you ball my shirt, your diaper cloth or the corner of a beach towel, whatever blanket-like material you can reach, into a tight fist against your chest, up to your cheek, into your mouth and, like magic, your eyes close.  I love that you've worked out this sleepytime routine for yourself.

You are mobile and vocal and generally very happy.

One of your father's favorite things about you is the way you move with reckless urgency.  You travel at lightning speed, plowing through barricades and climbing over obstacles.

You are an enterprising adventurer, an observant little sleuth, so focused on learning that I sometimes feel like I must be quiet in your presence lest I ruin your concentration.

There are little things you do - shake your head left to right, sniff your nose repeatedly - that make you laugh at yourself, which makes us laugh too.

Your favorite toy is a shoe.  Always, always, you go for the shoe.

You play games and have tricks: How Big and I Take My Little Hands and Where's Tollie, waving and standing and stepping and clapping. 

You sleep through the night.  This is huge, buddy.  This.is.huge.

Anxiety is becoming an issue, separation and stranger.  This isn't really wonderful or magnificent, but it helps me know you're right on track.

You’re like a vine, baby boy, growing exponentially overnight and commandeering every opportunity to cling. 
Keep it up.

All my love,
Mama