Letter to Anna: Month Seven

Dear Anna,

I feel like the last month has FLOWN by, but at the same time, I hardly feel like we have the same baby we did a mere 30 days ago. You are really starting to come into your own and it's amazing to see how much you're changing each day.

We dealt with your first bout of illness this month and everyone survived. I received "the (dreaded) call" from your school on a Wednesday that you'd woken up from your morning nap with a fever. Your Aunt Whitney is a pediatrician and I'd told myself mentally that I'd never abuse her power, but what do you know, I certainly called her after picking you up to see if she thought I should take you to see your doctor. I guess it's good to have friends in high places and I know that I'll be ringing her up more than I'd like to think I will over the years. You saw your doctor that afternoon and he cleared you other than the fever and prescribed fever medicines, hug, and cuddles. You were our sweet little girl even when feeling down and a little out; you never cried, just whimpered here and there and preferred to take your naps in someone's arms. By the weekend you were back to your usually happy-smiley self and the fever was a distant memory.

And speaking of distant memories, that fever was so distant that you decided to really come out of your shell and a flip switched such that you were all of the sudden sitting up on your own, attempting to clap your hands, and using tummy time to work on elevating those arms and knees at the same time. I tried to tell you that sitting up would change your world, but I don't think you believed me until you were steady on that bum. Now you love the new perspective and pan the room wide-eyed and amazed at your new view. You lunge forward in your high chair during meals (who needs to be a little reclined anyway?) and definitely prefer your Bumbo chair to your (reclined) bouncy chair when you're helping us get ready in the morning.

I can't tell you how much your Dad and I have delighted in seeing the world through the eyes of a child. Blowing on your hair is a game that has kept us entertained for over week now, whispering in your ear garnishes belly laughs, and you finally appreciate raspberries on your belly. Although I don't think you'll have a firm grasp on Christmas this year, it's been amazing to see you light up at the first sight of our tree, gaze at the presents underneath, and have loved "helping" me wrap presents. Needless to say, we can't wait for your next discovery.

You've also started to reach for familiar people, me included. Although I dread the day that any stranger anxiety will set in, it melts my heart to see you showing preference. The best part of my day is when I pick you up at school, see your smile when I enter the room, see those arms go into the air, and get that first hug. I know there will be a day in about twelve years where you'll dread hugs and kisses from me, so I plan to abuse my power to the fullest until then.

I saw a sign the other day that said "Keep Calm and Call Your Mom" and boy, do those words ring true for me lately. Your Gigi and I have always been close, but having you in my life has taken it to a new level. When she comes to visit the entire house is literally at ease; your Dad and I don't worry one iota when we're gone, you're always perfect, and even the cats love having her around (they show this by demanding she play fetch with them for hours and by "warming her bed"). When something big, bad, or sad happens in my life, your Gigi is one of the first two people I call, and depending on how hysterical I am, sometimes makes the cut above your Dad (she can decipher my crying voice better than anyone!). I love that you are now reaching out for me and I hope that continues throughout the years. I'm always here for you, I will always want to hear from you, and you will always be my little girl.

Love,
Mom