eleven

15 Nov

Dear George,

You’re under the weather, lately. Getting some molars, disagreeing with kiwi, sleeping funny and copping major attitudes.

You’ve started pushing me away when I’ve pissed you off, smacking me in the face for taking away whatever it was you wanted to put in your mouth.

Sometimes it drives me crazy. Nobody likes getting slapped in the face. But this newfound will of yours makes the times you reach for me, the unsolicited fly-by kisses, the resting of your head on my knee that much sweeter.

You shake your head yes and no. You greet the cats every morning when we (finally) get up and around with an “at, at, AT!” When you think we’ve missed your emphatic ‘all done’ sign, you garble it — “AHH DAA!” You say ma ma mamamamama. You gag on anything sweet.

You are my favorite and my best and I can’t wait to hear what else you have to say.

Happy eleven months.
Love,
mama

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