There's not that much to say about a newborn.
Family and friends called when he was born. I felt pressure to say something about my newborn. I'd hold the phone to my ear while pacing around the house to prevent crying long enough to have a much appreciated phone conversation, and I'd search my mind for something more to say about him. But there really wasn't much to say.
He ate, cried, slept in short spurts. He had physical features, in his case, blue eyes, golden hair, his Daddy's lips. But really, there was not much else to note.
I remember feeling guilty that many of those early conversations were about my labor and delivery and not my baby. There was something to say about labor and delivery; there was a list of options I chose, the embarrassing moments. But my baby, whose newborn behavior delighted me at every turn, didn't make for great conversation.
I remember feeling blessed that there was nothing to say about my newborn because he was the healthy standard of newborns. Had there been something to say, it would likely have been a cross to bear - his, mine, or ours.
But now, my eleven month old does all sorts of things that I love to tell people about. Perhaps they still aren't headline worthy, but I want to record a few of them here because otherwise, I'll so soon forget. And because finally it feels like there's something to say. And to my mommy heart, these are the most amazing accomplishments I've ever witnessed. And so I indulge...
- Clay understands maybe 30-40 words, but many he understands in a limited way. Ball refers to one specific football. He looks confused when we call other objects ball and then he searches around for the one he associates with the word. He knows what it means to "blow kisses," but he thinks he should put his hand to my mouth to blow kisses because that's what Mom does, right? Also, Mickey Mouse and I are the only faces in the world with identifiable noses.
- Clay has developed an affirmative language to let us know he wants to go outside (which is all the time). We ask, "Clay, do you want to go outside?" and he begins a string of squeals and exhalations which are always consistent and always in response to the question of going outside. Yesterday, it included walking me to the door and handing me my shoe. Just one shoe. I repeatedly asked for the other one and he didn't get it.
- He gives himself away when he's doing something wrong. He looks at me and whines even before I've reprimanded him.
- Clay prays when Daddy sits down at the table. Eric sits, Clay folds his hands, and waits for us to pray. But this is not a once a meal thing. EVERY time Daddy sits at the table, it's time to pray in Clay's mind. Daddy gets up to get more water, sits down, we pray. Daddy gets up again to grab a fork, sits down, we pray again. Eric and I take turns saying the 4, 5, 6 prayers per meal. We pray for whatever the conversation topic is at the moment. Not a bad habit, really.
- Clay quietly gasps when something is exciting. This morning at breakfast, he showed me a toy and I quietly gasped. And suddenly I realized, oh, so that's where he got that mannerism.
There's still a lot to say, but these pictures will do the rest of the talking...