Letter 17

Dear Shea,
Yesterday you turned 9 months old. The day before, you started crawling. Today, you had your doctor appointment; aside from your meager number on the scale, you were/are perfect. You were rocking your denim diapers and a fancy flower band, so it's no surprise everyone went gaga over you. At 15lb and 2 oz and a whole 26 inches tall, you were the sweetest of sweet. When we got home, you crawled from the center of the living room over to your music table, pulled yourself up and played the piano for a good 15 minutes before you decided to slump down to the floor and find something else to play with. Your crawling has been so liberating for you and I can't wait till you learn to walk. The smiles and giggles will be endless. Well, probably not. You'll still do a fair share of crying. Like when you see me scrape the inside of your food container; it's like you know that sound and action signify dinner is done. I like to call you Sheaday during these moments. Your cry/yell is so loud and boisterous, "Mayday! Mayday!" And of course, you'll probably still cry when I leave the room. But, eventually, you'll just follow me and by then, I will be reminded of how convenient it was when you just sat still. Such a silly circle.
Today I am just thankful for you. Not for the tricks of yesterday or tomorrow, but simply for you. Sheaday and all.

I love you Shea. My sweet, small Shea.