Housekeeping at Ten Months

Dear Milo:
This weekend you tunred ten months old. Here's the obligatory tushie shot that will embarass all your future girlfriends:



Now that we have that out of the way, let's get on to what you've been up to. And that is primarily: standing. And complaining about not standing. And walking. And complaining about not walking. You seem to have opted to go straight from being an immobile lump to walking, without detouring into all that unnecessary crawling nonsense. Unfortunately, you have neither the balance nor the strength to walk on your own, so instead you complain until someone offers you their fingers, whereupon you promtly turn beet red while attempting to haul yourself up to a standing position. Once there, you like to grab whatever is within reach and fling it to the ground as though what you've been really itching to do these past ten months is redecorate. You fling things with such authority, like "What in hell is this magazine doing on the coffee table when it OBVIOUSLY belongs on the ground or in my mouth?"

You have begun to have fears and frustrations over the past month. When you topple to the ground from standing you cry angrily until someone helps you get upright again, as though you are just so PISSED OFF by your own limitations. When you cruise around on the furniture, moving from coffee table to sofa, you are not as reckless as you once were, sometimes hesitating or even deciding not to risk the long gap between the sofa and the end table. That said, you still don't understand that propelling yourself headfirst off the bed is a bad idea.

You love the birds in the park, and whenever you see one you yell "Buh! Buh! and then attempt to follow it until it takes flight. You also love dogs and cats, although you don't seem to discriminate between them and call everything "Dah!". (You never say anything that doesn't have an exclamation point at the end of it.)

Feeding you has started to become challenging. Sometimes you like to grab the spoon and fling food around. Sometimes halfway through your pureed carrots and beef you will decide that what you really want is banana, and you will cry until someone gives it to you. You could easily eat your weight in Cheerios if we let you. However, you seem to love Chinese food, much to Mommy's delight. Indian food, not so much. And also feeding yourself, not so much. Sometimes I worry that you've got my laziness gene -- that this is why you would rather wait until you can walk and not bother with all that crawling crap, and it is also why you would rather sit back and open your mouth and have someone shove food in it rather than actually pick something up and put it in your own mouth. I guess I can't say I blame you, but I hope you start to show at least a tiny bit of initiative in the food department soon, since I'd rather not have to follow you to college so I can spoon-feed you.

You are still smiley all the time. Everyone always comments on what a happy little guy you are. And you still love to watch people. Whenever we are in an elevator or on the subway or waiting in line you, without fail, make extended eye contact with the person closest to you. At the Tot Lot, instead of moving around, you like to just stand in one spot and take it all in. I sort of do too. I love eavesdropping ont he conversations and checking out the other mommies and babies. So does Steven. So sometimes we just sit like that, the three of us, staring at the rest of the world.