Today you are 10-months-old. It's a little anti-climactic, actually, in that I've been rounding you up to 10-months since half way through month 9. Still, happy sort of birthday.
I'll be honest: you've kind of been driving me nuts this month. You've gotten to be far too mobile. Better were the days when I could set you in the middle of the floor and go about my business, confident in the knowledge that I'd find you right where I left you when I returned. In those days, I said things to you like, "How's my sweet boy?" and "Who's a cute little sedentary being?" But now our conversation has been reduced to one-word sentences: "No!" "Don't!" "Stop!" "Bad!" "Shit!"
Your fascination with chewing on electrical cords has been traded for a metal fetish. You suck on hinges, clasps, drawer pulls, buckles - anything you can get your lips on. And the table lamp. You haven't left the table lamp alone since you learned how to pull up on the furniture. I'm not sure what prompted the fascination, except maybe that it has both a cord and metal, making it your holy grail of chew toys.
I would blame it all on teething except that you seem quite determined to not start that anytime soon. You haven't cut a single tooth, and I'm beginning to think you never will. Not that I'm complaining. You're already a complete pain in the nipple to nurse, and I fail to see how the advent of teeth will improve the situation. But I hear dentures aren't particularly comfortable, so you might want to at least start thinking about sprouting some pearly whites.
And maybe also start thinking about where you're going. I don't mean in life - no need to get philosophical just yet. I mean maybe you should stop crawling into things. Watch where you're going. Because you hit your head a lot, and then you cry, and then I have to pretend to be sympathetic when really I just want to tell you STOP TRYING TO CRAWL UNDER THE GOD DAMNED CHAIR!
Which brings me to the yelling. I've been doing a lot of it this month, and I'm sorry about that. I could stand to be getting more sleep. Or more caffeine, though I try to stay away from that on account of the whole human milk machine thing. But really what I need is to accomplish something - anything - in a reasonable amount of time, which you make entirely impossible. It's not your fault. It's your job to try to learn to walk and to knock over every single thing I own in the process. You're doing exactly what you're supposed to be doing. But I am a task-oriented kind of person. I make to-do lists for the sheer thrill of being able to check things off, and it's driving me crazy that there's been no checking off in my life. And so I yell, and that's not right. I'm working on a plan to combat that; one that involves going to bed earlier, arranging a sitter so I can take a long overdue baby break, and including more easily accomplished items on my to-do list. (Eat something? Shower? Spill cereal all over kitchen floor? Check, check, and check!)
Because when you're not being a complete and total pain in my ass who never lets me get a damn thing accomplished, you're pretty incredibly awesome and, really, I'm loving the shit out of getting to spend so much time with you.
Even if you won't leave the damn lamp alone.