Dear Harper — Month 11

This is it, kid. The last month of your first year. I know, I say it every month (actually, every day), but I just cannot get over how lightening-fast this past year has gone by. And how you are not that same little baby I brought home from the hospital, because that baby could not even hold her gaze steady on anything, let alone pull every single precious copy of People magazine off the end table onto the floor, only to crumple the pages and chew up the new details of David Letterman’s secret double life.

We have suspected it all along, but this month has brought the hard truth: You are naughty. There are a few things in the apartment that are absolute no nos for you, including the cables going from the TV to the jack; Lilly’s dish and contents; and the glowing hot oven. Simple human psychology tells us that these are exactly the things you want to yank and grab and, if possible, shove in your mouth. When you approach any of said items, you get bombarded with a bilingual chorus of “Harper, no! Harper, nein!” Which usually makes you stop what you’re doing, but only for a second. You’ll look at us, the forbidden object, back at us … You know you shouldn’t, but you just can’t help yourself. Your newest tactic is to shake your head while saying, “Nay nay nay!” We don’t know if you’re trying to gain self control or if you’re just mocking us. Judging by the number of times we’ve had to fish dog food out of your mouth, I’m going to go with the latter.

You also endured your very first cold this month, with high fevers and all. I’m glad that it took you over 10 months to finally get sick. You’re a fat and robust baby now, and I knew you would be just fine. Had you been a newborn, I may have gone running down the street in my bathrobe, arms flailing in the air. Of course, it was too many days of you having to put up with thermometers and acetaminophen suppositories being shoved up your butt. You seem to have another cold now, but without the fever. Just the snot. Lots and lots of snot. Up until about a week ago, you hated having the snot sucked out of your nose. I can’t blame you, seriously. But once I started praising you like a true American mom, you actually let me suck the snot out of your nose with no screaming, no wiggling, nothing. You’ll even tilt your head towards the sucker and wince in anticipation. It is your first true move towards cooperation, and it delights me so much that I may just continue sucking snot out of your nose even when there’s none left anymore.

You’ve been perfecting your standing skills, and you really like to use them to climb up legs when you are sick of crawling around on the floor. And thanks to your friend Anton, you’ve finally picked up on the whole idea of cruising, even if it is still kind of wobbly. I’m not taking any bets that you’ll be walking by your first birthday (which is in ONE MONTH, for the love of crap!!), but you’re full of surprises. When I tell people that you’ll probably be walking soon, they shake their heads with pity, telling me that we’ll really have to be careful/pay attention/shackle you to the radiator. These are people who don’t have kids and therefore have no idea that the days of having anything worth keeping placed on shelves two-and-a-half feet and lower are over. Plastic is the name of the game here; just have a look at our kitchen floor:

You also survived your first Halloween, where we dressed you up like a lobster and took you out on the mean streets of Wiesbaden for some trick or treating. I guess people saw through the sham, becaue it was clear that you were not going to be the one eating all those Smarties and Dum Dums. So, our booty was meager, but the photos are priceless:

I also have to mention that the best part of my day is when I come home from work and the ear-to-ear grin I get from you when I walk through the door. Followed very closely by crying if I don’t pick you up fast enough. First stop? The toilet, with you on my lap. Coat gets taken off about half an hour later.

We have also graduated from the Bumbo to a real high chair, which you like to shove away from the table every chance you get; when I push you back in, you’ll shove yourself away again, giving me a look that is like looking into a crystal ball at the 14 year old you will one day be.

But first, year one.

Love,

Mama

This month’s nicknames: Gum Gum, Sweet Bear, Baby Bear, Harper Bear, Fatty Fat Fat, Mr. Chunkers

This month’s song:Who's My Pretty Little Baby, sung by Elizabeth Mitchell