Month 11

Dear Jack,

Today, you turn eleven months old, which means next month you will be a whole year old, which means life is going way too fast.

They say that babies grow and change the most in the first year, and that has been completely evident. Your father always jokes that people at work must think he has 6 kids, because each picture he has of you is different.

Last week, you and I went on vacation with your grandparents and aunt nicole. I debated whether to go on that trip longer than anyone should ever have to decide whether or not they feel like going to beach. I had convinced myself that we were not going, because the car ride would be entirely too much for you to handle. Two days before leaving, I decided to take the chance and go.

The ride down to Myrtle Beach went pretty smooth. You loved watching Happy Feet on the DVD player, and you napped a lot. You got a little fussy here and there, but compared to what I had anticipated it was a dream.

You loved the sand between your fingers, and you loved the big bath tub full of salt water, except when it splashed you unexpectedly. From day one, it was a constant battle trying to keep the sand out of your eyes and since you refuse to wear hats and sun glasses, it made it impossible and I ended up giving up. I said a couple of our fathers that you would still have your sight by the end of the week, and called it a day. Your diet consisted of gold fish, pringles, french fries, bananas, and grapes- most of which you would spit right back out for absolutely no reason at all. I think you just loved watching the sea gulls come and eat your fallen scrapes, but couldnt figure out why they did not want to play with you. Your first experience of being used. Unfortunately, you must still be expecting sea gulls to come and eat your food, because you still wont stop spitting it out.

I had to use the work "No" a lot during the trip, and I knew you started to understand me when you would scream and hit the air around you like a mad man. You could have slept a little better, but I started to grow to like our 630am walks around the neighborhoods. The ride back, unfortunately is hard regardless of anyones age- but for you it was impossible. To sum it up, by the end of the trip you didn't have a voice and your grandfather had dubbed you "Hell Boy".

Our saving graces on the trip were "The Itsy Bitsy Spider"-because you know how to do the hand movements- and "Peek-a-boo". Your fascination with Peek-a-boo is equal to that of an alcoholic, and you start to do it so much that you begin to forget that the entire concept of the game is to actually hide your face. Last night, our little family went out for ice cream. As we sat on the bench, you began playing peek-a-boo with the cars and waved at each on that past. It was one of those moments that made me realize how wonderful my life is.

The trip to Myrtle beach was hard, harder because your father was not able to go because of work. It was the first time in quite a while that I have gotten to spend that much non-stop time with you, and it made me realize how much of you and your life I miss. I do not get to see your attempts at walking, all of your new faces, all of your new sounds. I hope you will always understand that I work because I want the best life for you, and that my intentions are not selfish. I am sorry that I can not be there for you every second of the day and I am sorry I miss the little things you do, but always know that I will always be there when you call. Just because I work full time does not mean that you are my number one priority.

Love Always,

Mommy