Dear Harper — Month 10

Now you're so old that I have to consider whether or not to follow the AP Stylebook rule to use numerals for numbers 10 and up. Your mother is a puncuation and grammar nerd, or at least she used to be before she moved to Germany and messed up her groove with another language.

Standing! And, finally, teeth! This has been a month of milestones for you, designed to make our lives even less comfortable — "our" referring to your father and me. And Lilly. Now that you can pull yourself up to a wobbly standing position, Lilly has to seek refuge on even higher ground, such as the top of the back of the sofa. I think she's starting to realize that there's a lot more action where that came from. Your father and I are forever moving stuff that was completely out of your reach a mere few weeks ago to new out-of-Harper-range areas. You're also probably starting to think that your last name is No, considering how every other sentence out of my mouth contains "Harper NO!" Sometimes you'll actually stop yanking on the cables or trying to eat the plants. Sometimes not.



And the long-awaited first tooth is here, in pointy, just-above-the-surface form. You never let us look in your mouth, but your own new knack for insisting on drinking out of our glasses was your downfall here. While giving you a drink of water the other day, I heard a "clink-clink-clink." I managed to wrangle a finger into your mouth, and I cannot believe the amount of pride that swelled in my motherly chest. A tooth! My genius daughter has a tooth! Isn't she clever?

I know, I know. Insane. It's like praising you for having two kidneys. But actual tears welled up in my eyes. My baby. A tooth. Can you believe it? The word "tooth" is actually a little too much here, but it's cutting through was enough to make your father and I wonder if we should try to brush it. And how the hell we would do that when you won't even let us put a finger in your mouth.

You and your father have been getting along without me quite well now that I have gone back to work. My being out of the house by 6:30 a.m. kind of messes up your 7 a.m.-boob-time-then-back-to-sleep routine, which means poor Daddy has to get up with you, put you in the carrier and rock you back to sleep. We are more than delighted that you accept this form of sleep aid, since we were expecting Baby Armageddon. The first week I left bottles of pumped milk for you, which you eschewed with either a flick of your wrist or red-faced screaming. So I'm told. Mixed with water, you seem to accept drinking a breastmilk spritzer. But otherwise, like any connoisseur of good beverages, you prefer yours to come straight from the tap.



Anyway, you and Daddy have had less problems adjusting than I have. I miss you when I'm at work, and I can't help but resent having to spend time with people who are not you. The positive side is that having you at home puts everything into perspective and keeps me from spending too much time doing things other than actually working at work. Daddy reports that Lilly keeps you occupied for much of the morning, allowing him the time to at least put a pair of pants on.



Just over the last few days, you have said some words that both your father and I heard and understood immediately. The other day it was Lilly. And just this morning, when Daddy handed you your cup of water, it was Danke. Daddy and I both looked at each other, and he said either you really said it, or we're both just crazy.

If that's the case, at least we're crazy together.

Love,
Mama

This month's nicknames: Gum Gum, Toothy Ruthy, Baby Bear, Bug Bear
This month's song: Stand by R.E.M.