Birth month boy!

Today was your ninth month in this whirled gone wild, my son. We celebrated by walking over to the toy lending library at the Early Years Centre. This library is a mother’s dream: all the bright coloured plastic a boy could ever want with the fleeting permanency that any woman, who cherishes the design of her living room, longs for.
Well Ivan, in nine months you’ve come along way from sleeping in your car seat on top of the stove, panicking when the cat came near you and eating your hands. As a mother, entering into the sacred state of parenthood was trying at best and stressed teeth chipping at worse. After we’ve grown to know and care the world for one another, all moments of apprehensiveness and uneasiness seem so far in the distant past. As I write these words, I realize how sentimental they sound. Perhaps I’m feeling this way because you are close to walking, and enjoying the same kinds of foods that we do, becoming more and more like a little person than a voodooed baby.
The month of November was busy for the family, as you’ll notice by the lack of blog posts. I hosted my first real party of 2009, the annual soup club. Cooking soups and preparing for the arrival of the participants took four times as long as it would have without an investigative certain someone to help me along with my plans. And somehow, this year, many ladies of the club told me it was the best meeting yet. The reasons could be many (caesars, sconewitches, a bunch of us enthused girlies), but I felt it was because our house is really a home now with young Ivan a part of our lives and, in turn, the ways in which I went about arranging for guests came from this polished strength.