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A Letter To Stella: Nine Months Old

  • Posted on January 20, 2009 at 9:06 pm

Dear Stella,


You are nine months old–nine whole months. For nine months, you grew inside me, and for nine months, you have grown outside me. And now, each passing day is one more day on the right side of this delicate equation. Everyday I watch you become more like a little girl, and less like the baby who tapped danced in my belly and refused to come out, even with some coaxing. I still remember what it felt like, your somersaults and jabs inside my belly, and I sometimes miss it. I enjoyed everyday of my pregnancy with you, in awe of what my body was capable of.

And now, nine whole months later, everyday you amaze me with your absolute brilliance and moxie–and so it seems you have grown into your name, as I knew you would.

At nine months, you’ve been crawling for over a month, and now that you’re pulling yourself up on furniture and creeping around, I think you’ll be walking in no time.

You’ve got the smallest little nub of a tooth on your bottom gum, but nothing more–my little toothless wonder, I call you.

Your hair is turning blond, your eyes are a light blue-grey, you weigh 17 pounds, 13 ounces and measure 28 inches long.

You say Dada and Baba and Lala and Guh and sometimes Mama, but only if I’m lucky.

You fed yourself corn puffs for the first time last week, a huge accomplishment, and a skill that requires fine hand-eye coordination–though you often miss your mouth, or can’t figure out how to get the puff from your palm to your mouth.

You love to bang on things–I can give you a wooden spoon and a bowl and you’re the happiest little baby.

You are already a social butterfly–you make friends wherever you go. You stare at strangers until they make eye contact with you, then you smile and flirt. You can make any stranger smile–your smile is contagious, and you get so many compliments that I just have to nod and smile and say thank you, yes, I like her too.

You give me kisses when I ask, and you also kiss your stuffed animals and your own reflection in the mirror.

Your favorite books are “Moo Ba La La La” and “Hello Bee, Hello Me”, and I read them to you everyday.

I know how quickly nine months will turn into nineteen months, and then nine years, and then nineteen years. But in the meantime, I love watching you discover the world, and discover yourself, and I can’t wait to see the little girl you will become.

When I was pregnant, I thought  the bond I felt with you as you grew inside me was the strongest feeling I was capable of. Now I know. Now I know.

I love you.

Yours always,


Would You Like Fries With That?

  • Posted on January 6, 2009 at 10:20 pm

Stella took her first trip to Indiana over the holidays.  She loved Indiana, except for the part where she threw up five times. Luckily, I was there to catch her puke in my hands (oh my god what was I thinking why did I stick my hands out and why did I do it it MORE THAN ONCE. Because, like, god forbid we get a little throw-up on the changing pad. The machine washable changing pad.)

No one’s first trip to Indiana is complete without a trip to Steak N’ Shake. Behold, the family tradition:

Brandon, Eric and I after our first trip to Steak N' Shake, 1994

Brandon, Eric and I after our first trip to Steak N' Shake, 1994

This picture was taken when my family went to Indianapolis to buy a house in February of 1994. Steak N’ Shake was a novelty to us–hello, Steakburgers? Milkshakes? Skinny little french fries? We thought we were soooooo funny, wearing the hats and the bibs. The photographer (my mom) caught me mid-sentence, my mouth hanging open so that I look like a big grungy dummy. (It was 1994, almost 15 years ago. Kurt Cobain was still alive and flannel was, like, cool.)

And now, 15 years later:

Stella at Steak N Shake, 2008

Stella at Steak N' Shake, 2008

It looks like they’ve updated the hat slightly–notice the sleek new double line look. The bibs, however, are exactly the same.

(P.S. I’m playing around with the look of the blog–so please excuse the dust while we remodel.)