Dear Noah,

Well, Mommy is almost a week late getting your birthday letter written this time, but it’s all your fault. In a month, you’ve gone from a lying-down baby to a sitting-up baby, and I never knew there was a difference until now. As a lying-down baby, you gave me the opportunity to watch you from over on the sofa. But as a sitting-up baby, you need me by your side at all times, so I can cushion your noggin when you topple over, and also so I can keep you from grabbing close-by things I had no idea you could reach. In fact, as I write this, you are sitting next to me on the couch eating a teething biscuit and trying to help me type with gummy, coated fingers.

Oh, my love bug. How grown up you are, at seven months! Last weekend we stayed at your Grandmommy and Granddaddy’s house, and they have some newborn pictures of you hanging on the walls. Compared to those pictures, you are practically a little man! In the pictures you can’t hold your head up or smile or talk or anything, but now you do all of that and more. Thinking back on you as a little helpless baby worm makes mommy have seizures smile.

Some of the things you have learned how to do this month: sit up on your own, eat from your own hands, give me slobbery kisses on the cheek, and squeal for attention from random strangers sitting at the table next to ours. Mostly ladies. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that Mommy is the only lady you need. Repeat after me: girls are bad. Mommy is good. (Also, don’t pay attention to Daddy when he rolls his eyes at Mommy.)

Now that’s settled, let’s talk about what a big month you’ve had. You are one busy little guy! A couple of days ago I heard you singing from your crib, so I went in there to get you and found you holding on to the bars like you were in jail. It was so funny I had to run get your Daddy and the camera. Then just last night your Daddy called me into your bedroom, and you were standing up in your crib, holding on to the rail. Your 28-inch-long body was leaning all the way over, and if your Daddy hadn’t been standing there, you could have toppled right out. He said to me, “Guess who got himself into this position all on his own?”

So we got the tool box and set to work lowering your crib mattress before we put you to bed. It kind of unnerved me, Bubba. In no time at all we’ll be shopping for your race-car bed, won’t we?

You haven’t changed personality-wise at all this month. I keep reading about the stranger-danger you’re bound to develop at any time, but for now you’re still the charmer, smiling and flirting with everyone in sight. You’re content to let everyone hold you, and I’m pretty sure you love being the center of attention.

You have so much to say, too, and you say it like I imagine a pterodactyl might. All Mommy and Daddy can do is grin sheepishly at the other people in the restaurant who have suddenly stopped talking and looked our way to see where the prehistoric creature is celebrating. You can growl too, and laugh, and squeal, and say daa-daa.

YEAH.

No matter how many times I say “MAA-MAA” to you, you smile at me, look me in the eye, and say quite plainly, “DAA-DAA.” You’re either schooling me or mocking me; I’m not sure which. Just remember: I carried you around for nine months, I gave birth to you, I feed you with my boobs, and I still wake up one to three times every night to feed you, rock you, and comfort you back to sleep. Just remember that, pal, when you decide to be your Daddy’s little boy. (Here is another instance where you should also remember what I said before: don’t pay attention to Daddy when he rolls his eyes. Thank you.)

The biggest difference in you this month, honestly, is how independent you’re becoming. It’s a weird juxtaposition, because you also don’t want me to leave your side, so I’m having to learn how to let you be co-and-independent at the same time. Last night, for example, we were having dinner with some friends, and you were so fussy. I couldn’t figure out why, because I knew you weren’t tired or hungry, and you’re usually so pleasant. You just kept fussing and squirming, and finally I sat you down on the floor. Instantly, you stopped fussing and started making your happy pterodactyl screeches. I felt sort of guilty for having you sit on the floor while the rest of us were at the table like civilized people, but you were just so happy to be sitting there on your own, like a big boy.

I love you, my big boy. I could not love you more. Which I think every day, and then I wake up again, and realize it wasn’t true. And with that, I’ll close this letter, because you are currently trying to crawl off the couch. HEAD FIRST.

Love,

MAA-MAA