Browsing Tag

9 months


9 Months

Oh, Olive.

ImageOlive Grace, you are a cruising, shreiking, grass-eating,laughing, two-toothed delight.


I am already planning her first birthday like a crazy person. I figure the one time I am totally encouraged to be a crazy mom is my first baby’s first birthday. I promise no themes or clowns though – give me a little credit y’all.


She has started giving me hugs and kisses. She looks at me and grunts frantically until I hold out my fingers for her to walk towards me, and then flings her chubby arms around my neck and babbles softly into my ear. When I push out my lips and make the “mmmmm” kissy noise she lurches unsteadily towards me with a big open mouthed drooly kiss.

Oh, my heart! Seriously, child.


Her babbling is starting to take on a very serious tone, like, she has something very. important.  to tell me, and she stares at me intently, and emphasises syllables over and over until she is sure that I GET IT.

“Ada, da da da, DA DA! a-DA! DadadadDA DA DA!”

And then she nods and smiles, satisfied that I understand.

(I do not understand. I keep suggesting that she use the sign language that Adam and I have been doing like idiots since she was four months old. But so far, no cigar. Unless grass-eating counts.)


I let her eat grass sometimes because I think kids are too clean nowadays. Go ahead kid! Eat some dirt! Strengthen your immune system! Can you trim the hedges too while you’re at it?

Now that those two teeth have poked out, this 9 months old is sleeping like a champ again.

And I am going to whisper this part so that I don’t anger the powers that be: for three nights in a row now she has gone to sleep at around 8, slept till 6:30 am, fed, then slept again until nine. 

That sound you hear is my sanity returning, the bags under my eyes fading, and my reliance on coffee waning slowly…suspiciously.

Happy 9 Months, Little Liv. We love you. 



Olive turned nine months old on the 5th. I’m late with her 9 month picture, because I attempted to do them on the actual day and they all sort of ended up looking like this:

Girl was not having it. Probably because we discovered a second tooth trying to bust its way into her smile a few days later. So the pictures have been delayed and I’m almost a week late but hey, they’ll get done.

In the meantime I am looking at this child of mine, this daughter of mine, and am just floored daily by what I see. I have talked about this before and therefore I have probably talked about this here before, but she surprises me. Every day.

I don’t think I realized, when I was pregnant and trying to picture who this little baby would be, that I was imagining a tiny me. Boy or girl, I was imagining me in infant form. And I know that I didn’t consciously realize this because of the surprise I feel every time Olive does something very un-me.

That’s how they measure expectation, did you know that? By surprise. When you exhibit surprise, it is because you expected one thing to happen and another did instead. Like when you expect to come home from work and change into pajamas and burrow into your couch watching trashy tv and eating chips from the bag, but when you walk in your front door exhausted-SURPRISE! Everyone you know in the world is crammed into the living room you forgot to vacuum.

(Relevant to this tangent: I turn thirty this year. 3-0. I would like a surprise party. I have never had a surprise party. I hate planning my own party, I would like a surprise party. How is it a surprise if I am expecting it? I don’t know, I mean figure it out do I have to do everything?)

Anyway, what I am trying to say with this longwinded tangent is that I wasn’t aware that I had expectations for Olive even before I knew she was Olive. I mean it’s probably the worst thing you can do as a parent, to imagine them as a little you and force them to follow in your footsteps, achieving all of the things you couldn’t or didn’t achieve. But here we are. And every single day I sit here and watch  my daughter, who is so strong and brave and trusting and motivated and fearless, and I am surprised. Because I don’t feel brave or strong or trusting or motivated, and definitely, definitely not fearless.

I am afraid of a lot. I’m afraid of failure and judgement and being alone. I fear that I am not doing well enough – and what is enough? I have no idea, the standard keeps changing, the bar keeps shifting up and up. I am afraid of overpromising and under delivering, I’m afraid of missing the mark and taking risks and being wrong. I’m especially afraid of what other people think.

But there’s Olive. Busting out teeth left right and centre. Standing up every chance she gets – even, especially after she’s just fallen and whacked her head on the hard floor . Happily lurching from coffee table to sofa, reaching out her hands and trusting that someone will catch her if, when, she falls.

I talk about it all the time, how different she is from me. It never fails to surprise me, and I kind of love it. I love how strong she is. I hope she never loses that. Some fear is good of course, fear is what keeps us from making truly stupid decisions (like bungee jumping. Or face tattoos.) but too much can paralyze you and stop the movement, the happy lurching from place to place.

So. Today I will hopefully take and post her nine months photos, this brave little daughter of mine who has now belonged to the world longer than she belonged just to me. We’ll take pictures and Adam will make faces to get her to smile and I will write in the “Milestones| section of her baby book: You are so strong. And so brave. And you have two teeth! And we love you, we love you so much that we surprise ourselves.


9 Month Pregnancy Steeze


And also, to counteract the immense guilt I feel at misrepresenting myself by posting a picture taken on one of the few days I’ve actually gotten dressed instead of just wearing leggings and baggy sweaters all day, and acting like this is the norm rather than the exception, here is another, less flattering picture.


Definitely my good side.

(Photo taken by my baby sister Mawney. This is why everyone needs siblings: they keep your ego in check.)