Guest Blogger Jordana

In no way is this related to Ian’s wife Tessa writing his blog. I think Jordana has a far better understanding of the boo and hasn’t written much down about him since we started this little adventure, so she asked if she could write his eleven month blog.

From her…

In the early months it’s difficult to distinguish personality from developmental stage. Most of what your kid does and even feels is a function of them working to acquire whatever the next skill is. Sure, temperament varies from kid to kid, but that can also change for the same kid in the course of a month or, y’know, an hour. This is profoundly reassuring when he’s being a butthole or if you’ve screwed something up, because the clay hasn’t been fired yet and you can undo almost anything in almost no time. But then there’s the curiosity, the wondering who he’ll be and what he’ll love. And the moments that seem to give glimpses of his essential nature are among the most thrilling.

Okay, Barnaboo, here’s what I think we know about you. Feel free to make a liar of me as it suits you…

You’ve got your dad’s feet and forearms. You’ve also got his strength and enthusiasm. You’ve got my tendency to escape into a corner when you max out on people or stimulus. You’ve got your Uncle Ian’s coloring, Aunt Michelle’s zany smile, Uncle Steve’s drive to figure out how things work and Uncle Kent’s wiggly eyebrows/concentration tongue. We know you’re winding down for the day when you get your dreamy eyed Aunt Sabrina face on.

Your milestones tend to evolve rather than occur. There haven’t been a lot of eureka moments, but that’s an easy trade off for getting to watch you mix the mortar and lay the bricks. You start early and arrive on time. You’ve got just enough frustration to keep you constantly moving forward, but that seldom outweighs your joy in what you can do right now. Most things have come pretty easily to you. Sleep did not. But you’ve worked through it and it moves your papa and me to tears just thinking about how far you’ve come. We love to sneak in and watch you sleep.

You love your grandparents like crazy. You love dogs so much that we’re going with “dog” as your official first word (although it could be argued that “ball” came first). We’re pretty sure you have a crush on Aunt Deb. You adore the teddy bear Uncle Seth gave you and are always willing to take a break from your busy day to give it a cuddle and a beatific little smile. You love lights, leaves, swings, music, climbing stairs, eating, dancing, banging, clapping, waving, high fives, books, baths, beards, empty diet coke bottles, soft things, bumpy things and pretty much anything we tell you you’re not supposed to have.

When you feel hurt or wronged or scared, you give us the sad face (an absurdly histrionic commedia mask of melancholy). And lots of times that’s enough. We’ve had a hard time getting a picture of it, because it goes away so quickly. I think you just want us to acknowledge that something bad happened and to acknowledge you for being brave about it before you’re ready to move on. Sorry we can’t stop ourselves from laughing.

The baby is starting to drift away as the toddler begins to take shape. You’re understanding more and expressing yourself more clearly every day. You’re frighteningly mobile. I love who you’re becoming, but I’m already starting to miss who you’ve been. When I meet someone cool these days, my first impulse is to say, “You’ve got to meet my kid. He’s just the greatest little guy.” And you are. But I don’t say that–at least not most of the time–because who wants to listen to somebody talk about their kid?