Inquisitive Henry David,

Today you are 11 months old. Not quite a whole year, and a far cry from the babe we brought home last April 25th. You are changing so much, and still, some aspects of you become more and more obviously “Henry” every day. You have a whole arsenal of trademarks, HD–expressions galore that make us smile and wonder, remarkable car and truck noises, and a voracious appetite for books and anything with wheels.

This month, your curiosity is what strikes me the most as we turn the corner on the last leg of your very first year. You point at absolutely everything, then look either satisfied and delighted at knowing it’s name and purpose, or thoughtful and studious as you ask to see what object has grasped your attention. You furrow your little brow and turn as if to say, “What is it, Mom?!” at least a hundred times a day.

“Reading” and window watching are your top favorite activities, along with standing guard at your nursery gate. Nothing gets by you unless you are bone weary at the end of the day, and even then, I struggle to keep you from noticing every last sound and distraction as you have your last feeding before bedtime.

My child, you are strong. Physically strong and determined to get wherever you are going, and otherwise–as you seek your own answers, solutions, outcomes and consequences on a daily basis. I don’t worry much about you. I mean, as your mother, of course I worry–for your safety, your health, your heart, and your budding relationship with God. But I don’t worry about you. Even with only 11 months under our belts together, I am totally confident that you will be the one reminding me to keep it together some days. You’re sharp as a tack. I have no doubt I’ll be on my toes for the next number of years with you. And that’s a very good thing.

Perhaps it’s a first born thing, but you are one of the most calculating little ones I know. I can understand a little now why I’ve been teased a time or two about coming out of the womb a mini adult. You are a little boy, of course, and you like little boy things–sand, trucks, dogs, splashing with vigor in the bathtub. But you are cautious. From my vantage point, your little man wheels are spinning all day long and taking everything in. You turn pages of a book like it’s the most important task on earth. I cannot love you enough for this, or for how you study and take pause and study some more. Watching you is like learning an entirely new language and falling more in love with the culture behind it every day. As I get to know more of who you are becoming, I am increasingly aware of just how much I love being your mama. Proud doesn’t even cover it.

Between months 10 and 11, you have grown wildly independent. It’s only a matter of time before you are stepping–then running, everywhere you want to go. In the meantime, your two bottom teeth have finally made an appearance, shining up that gummy smile as if to say, “Here we are, world! What do you have for us!?” You have discovered your belly button (and mine, and daddy’s), and they perplex you in an adorable way. The Belly Button Book has helped us to hone in on your latest development–somehow, the “belly b’s” of cartoon hippos really clear up that mysterious little bump in the center of your tummy. You are also learning to tell us where your heart, hair, and ears are, adding to your repertoire of eyes, nose, mouth, and feet (but belly button is still by far my favorite–especially when you use both hands to tell me where it is ;). You’ve parked on the syllables ca-, da-, ma-, ba-, and ga- for a time, and you typically throw in some gibberish for good measure. And yet, every once in a while, you just get down to it and say the name of whatever it is you’d like to discuss. I love your little deep voice and how you get so serious when you have something important to say.

Now we’re counting down on birthday numero uno, and this mama is not yet ready to put a party hat on your head and admit that an entire year has gone by. Sometimes the days are long, yes, but the weeks and months disappear as if it were nothing. I love you as my toddler and I miss you as my infant all at the same time. No matter though, in the long run. You are still–as you’ve been from day one, my little bug. No walking, running, talking, chomping, pointing, or coming into your own will ever change that. I’m getting excited as I plan your party and scheme of ways to celebrate incredible little you. Get ready, Hanker Tanker. Here comes April!

love you right up to the moon. and back.

mommy