Dear Eliza,
Last night, your Mom took off for a well-deserved, hour-long massage. You and I were left alone, no big deal.
Except that you decided to be a terror for 90 minutes, and in rare form. I tried every move in the playbook to keep you happy: Play area, high chair, bouncy saucer, reading, taking a nap, drinking a bottle... You rarely stayed happy for more than a few minutes at a time before you started a progression of groaning, growling, whining, fake crying and real crying.
The only thing that kept you content was being held and walking around. Maybe you decided you were tired of baby stuff and just wanted to take a high perch like an adult? That's fine. I look forward to you learning some sign language to help tell me that in the future so I don't have to try so hard.
You were acting really whiny and needy, like "Dad, don't you understand that when I'm in my play area I need to face due north and need my toys between 4 and 6 inches away from my reach and in rainbow color order?" You can be anything you want to be in life, but you CANNOT be high maintenance. That's the worst.
Of course, when Mom came back in her post-massage loose and half-awake state, you sprung back to life. I think you're just in Mom-mode right now.
To the point of last night's event, you're starting to show a lot of personality. You care more about what's happening around you and make expressions about how you feel. You absolutely love Greta right now. Whenever she walks by wagging her tail or playing with a toy, you light up and laugh really hard. Greta is less scared of you now that she realizes that you're less of a strange doll we carry around and more of a person. It's nice to see you both getting along.
Your Mom says you are the most wiggly baby she's ever seen, which is saying a lot. You love to stand on laps and shake your hips around like there's an invisible hula hoop you're trying to keep up. When you sleep, you're like a clock and rotate from about 12 to 9 clockwise each night. You dangle your legs outside the crib to lock yourself into a position where we find you in the morning. If we put you down for a nap with socks on, you pull them off. I totally get it. I do the same thing. Too hot.
Because your core is getting so strong, now you can sit in a high chair like a big girl and also sit forward-facing in a stroller, which gives you better views on walks. You also like to sit in a bouncy saucer that looks something like a baby spaceship. You swing wildly back and forth when we put you in it. It looks like you're in a mosh pit of one.
The baby spaceship is where we put you when you talk to your Grammie and Popa in Indiana on video calls. It's nice that you get to see them that way, and they should be out for a visit soon.
But it's not like you're sticking around home either. You're an international traveler now! We made a weekend trip to Whistler to go skiing and brought the whole family -- you, me, Mom and Greta. You didn't do anything weird at the border crossings. Nice job staying calm and relaxed. We had a hotel right in Whistler Village, so you and Mom did some shopping while I enjoyed a day skiing. I think you really like the snow and a cool breeze on your face because you are so happy being outside in this winter weather. You were also easy when we went out to restaurants, which is awesome. We've been going out to eat as a family almost weekly and you have yet to throw a fit and force us to leave a restaurant in the middle of a meal like in the movies. Let's keep it that way.
You were also a good baby for Grandma Vicki when your Mom and I took a day off to ski at Crystal Mountain. That was a long day without Mom but you rocked it. You got to hang out at the Chaffee cabin and saw a herd of elk during the day. Lucky!
We've got a lot more travel together ahead and some of my work travel that will keep us apart in the next couple months. I'm flying to Austin here in a few hours and will miss you and Mom a lot over the work weekend. Leaving for these small stretches is infrequent but that doesn't make it easier. I'm learning how to feel torn in wanting to stay home with you while also looking forward to the travel, just like before you arrived. It's hard to explain the feeling, so I'll leave you with a quote:
"I exist in two places: here and where you are."
Love, Dad