Dear Taylor,

You move! Your groove! You still don't sleep through the night. There's nothing really surprising there. What is surprising about you at 10 months is how incredibly quickly you pick up on actions, sounds, emotions. I clap, you clap. I blow bubbles, you blow bubbles. Andrew and Ezra did none of that until they were a year old. You are a very aware little guy, and your newfound ability to crawl here and there, to and fro just means you're even more involved with your environment.



Right now, you hate to have your diaper changed. Being that you're the only baby I've ever had that cries when he's wet or muddy, I find this an interesting development. It used to be that you'd stop crying when I picked you up and put you on the change table. Now, you cry harder, and then kick so hard you inevitably bonk your noodle on the retaining ledge of the change table and kick the poop off the diaper and onto the lamp. Yes, poop splattered lamp. That happened today. It was a new one.



You like to eat everything. Sort of. You're not a fan of slow cooker beef mixed up with pasta and peas. The texture, I fear, is not what you'd hope for in a meal. When you don't like a food, or are full, you spit zerbert hock it out. Yes, you vibrate your lips and spit the food out at the same time. It's kind of charming in an annoying, messy way. On occasion, I have given you a stern, "No!" when you've shlocked food all over my face and glasses for the third time that day and you look at me, eyes wide, in (I swear to God) total comprehension. And then you stop. You are smart.



You already know how to wait for your moment to take toys away from Ezra. You wait. You watch. You gently stick your hand over and lift the car/ball/cup/block silently away. Without muss or fuss, you get that toy for about 30 seconds until Ezra realizes the trickery that has occurred, grabs your arm, and yanks it back, screaming, "MY TOY! NO, TAY-YER. Mine!" He'll randomly sit on you and push you over in that slightly absentminded, loving way of his. He is intensely protective of you still, and stands beside the stroller on guard, making sure strangers don't think they can touch you without one hell of ruckus. They are verbally warned, "Don't touch ma bebby!" when they dare smile and coo at either of you.






You need a haircut. But I'm going to wait. I only get two more months of real baby-ness with you and I'm hanging on to it with both hands.

Love you forever monkey-butt boy,
Momma