10 Months!?!?

Eames turned 10 months old this past Monday and, like the other month-birthdays, I'm struck silent by how fast it has gone. This time, however, I promised myself that I'd actually try to write something.

Enjoying the California sun and Ikea toys.

Since I last posted, Eames has become mobile. He's not walking completely quite yet, but he's cruising with ease, taking a few steps to cross short divides, and started crawling in the last week or two as well. Actually, crawling might be a bit strong. Like the steps he takes to get from object to object when he runs out of wall, he uses a scooching method to achieve the same result. He's not using crawling as a full-fledged way to get around yet and he seems far more interested in mastering this whole walking thing than exploring the world of crawling.

Ok. I lied.




Since I began drafting this post (5-6 days ago), Eames has decided that crawling is a viable form of transportation. He spent the better part of the day chasing his (new) ball around the main floor and hollering at the top of his lungs. Watching this video, Josh told me that sometimes he thinks that Eames really has things figured out; then, he proceeded to point out that Eames is basically playing catch with himself and always waits for the ball to come to a complete stop before he goes after it, thus ensuring the shortest distance between two points. Does MIT have a waiting list? For 2027? Egad.

In the past two days, he's also taken to walking to some corner--like where the stairs and wall meet--letting go and walking. He generally makes it anywhere between 5 and 12 steps. Except when he doesn't. Like this morning when he pitched forward and kissed the flooring with his (new, really new, just emerged) front teeth. There was blood. There were tears. Then he was back at it. Only he apparently decided that his left foot was to blame and started taking taking steps with his right foot only, leaving the left firmly planted. This resulted in him turning a very neat circle, beginning near the corner of the wall and ending in damn near the same place. Like just about anything else he does, this elicits a fair amount of bellowing and grunts and laughs that sound remarkably like Barney--after puberty.

But, what everyone seems to be most interested in for some reason, is Eames's sleeping habits. The short answer is that he's still not sleeping through the night. He had gotten to the point where he was waking up around the time I go to bed and again around 2-3:00. This, I could live with. But, sometime before our trip to California, Eames began waking up every hour or hour and a half. What changed?

He learned how to stand up in his crib.

Now, whenever I stumble into his room in the middle of the night, he's standing in the corner closest to the door, directing his rumblings right toward my bed. Except when he's not. Like when I stumble in, following strange grinding sounds only to find Eames gnawing on the side of his (very modern, somewhat pricey) crib. Which now has teeth-like scrape marks on the side panel. So far, I haven't found any splinters in his gums, but with 3 top teeth coming in right now, it's not exactly easy to tell.

Luckily, I have a brilliant neighbor who suggested that he wasn't just really embracing his role as a momma's boy. She pointed out that he may be able to get up, but probably hasn't figured out how to get back down. I quickly dismissed this possibility, pointing out that he often squats and sits during the day. And then it dawned on me: what he doesn't do, however, is lie down. Unless he falls. Yes, Eames is like one of those proverbial cats who climbs a tree but needs a hunky fireman to get him down. Only in this case, the hunky fireman is me (sans mustache).

But, the truth is, even the interrupted sleep doesn't bother me. I'm not getting a ton of sleep. I'm not getting any writing done. I can't keep the house clean. Running is more often a plan than an actuality. And my very cool haircut never looks like it should. But, I commit myself to every moment, enjoying this time before another 10 months--or 10 years--goes by. Aspen reminds me everyday that it goes too quickly.

Happy 10 months, Eames.