Movement

Dear Lucy,
Your development amazes me. You are transferring more and more, becoming braver by the day. When you fall over, you rarely cry; you will hold your hand to the spot that hit the floor and look confused for a moment. I know that you will be walking soon, and this is both exciting and frightening.
Only a moment ago, you were born. This is how it feels to be your mother -- 'it', 'this', is so fleeting -- I have a lump in my throat, often, when I'm away from you. Your personality is blossoming. You understand little jokes that we share with you and laugh at us. You know what you like to eat, and when you want to eat it. You like the books "Peek a Who?" and "Brown Bear" this week. You've made me read them 20 times in a row but I do it gladly. I love the end of the book, when you spy yourself in the mirror and you put your nose up to it to examine the 'other' baby.
Four molars have joined your first 8 teeth and there are four more teeth coming. Sweet jesus, you should be eating steak by now! I try to brush your no-so-little teeth at night, but you would rather chew on the toothbrush, sucking off all of the paste, and I let you, because you scream otherwise. And it is piercing, the screaming.
You are your father's girl. Sometimes I am jealous of this. You'll nurse and then, as soon as you are finished, sit up in my lap and look around -- "dad?" you say. The other night he was gone and you made me sit on the porch, watching cars go by. When you would see a white car, your little finger would point out -- "dad?, dad?". But this is beautiful in it's own right.
We love you dearly.
Yours,
Mama