Last week you turned nine months old. Nine months is always kind of a magical time for me. It represents the point in which you have been out in this world as long as you were deep inside of me. It implies some sort of independence – you as you grow and begin to experience this world; me as I slowly regain control of my body after the 18 months that it has been totally and completely yours.
Independence is always hard for parents. You and me, we’ll come up against this time and time again. You will want to bust out of these confines I’ve built to keep you my baby for just a little longer.
But today, you’re still a baby. Still my baby. You know it and I know it. And despite all the scootching and babbling and wise smiles you give – for today, at least, you fit in my arms and want to be there.
These past nine months of getting to know you have been incredible, Gavin. From the moment I laid eyes on you, I wondered how you would be different from your brother. Would my love just be recycled? Would our experiences just be relived? Would you just be a Cameron Jr? It was hard to not wonder these things. My whole understanding of motherhood was centered around your big brother. And you just looked so much like him.
You, my precious little baby, are absolutely, completely, unequivocally Gavin. And although you will grow up in your brother’s shadow, you are always your own person. And that person will always be special to me in your own unique way.
Some day when you are moping around the house in the way teenagers do, I’ll tell you about what a happy baby you were (I know this will happen because my parents did this to me. Sorry. We pass that kind of annoying parenting down). But Gav, believe me when I tell you, you are a happy baby. People comment on how you must be the happiest baby they’ve ever seen. Maybe it is because you have to fight for the limelight beside your brother. But your face lights up when someone looks at you, smiles at you, talks to you. You have a special thing going in that beautiful smile of yours.
Don’t lose that. Don’t lose that smile that brightens the world around you. Don’t lose the personality that can bring a smile to someone’s day. You may bury this from time to time and try out other attitudes and feelings and personalities, but never, ever lose it. This is something special, Baby. You are something special.
You might hear that your brother did things earlier that you did. It is true. By this point in Cameron’s life, he was just about walking. He had certainly been crawling for months. You? You’re going about it in your own way. You barely rolled. You haven’t yet crawled. You get around fine just sitting on your cute little butt and pulling yourself forward with your legs. It is so… cute. It is so… you. You don’t ever have to do things the same way your brother did. You’ll find your own way. I’m sure of it.
And right now, I’m loving that you aren’t rushing into toddlerhood. I love having you as my Little for a short while longer.
Never change, Gavin. But when you do, I’m excited to be there with you – to watch and experience your growth. You’re incredible.
Love always and forever,