Dear Oscar,
Three days ago you woke up from a nap with a trickle of blood trailing from between your eyes down the ridge of your nose. You were unperturbed, but I wasn't, so I had your daddy take a photo. I thought: Is this foreshadowing? I could see the photo series rolling out in front of me, blood running down your face and you undaunted, one photo for every year of your life. Is this what it means to be a boy?
I've been thinking about gender stereotypes, about the things we do that might etch in "boy" or "girl" early in life. Your grandpa has been calling you Ox since almost the day after you were born, so I guess if we were planning to go for relative gender neutrality we missed the boat anyway. On the other hand, we did put you in pink princess pajamas once, and you rocked them like David Bowie.
Eight months has you more and more interested in moving, and more frustrated when you can't. You can push yourself backwards across the floor, slowly, and sit for very long periods of time with impressive reach. When on your belly you push up and up, straining toward the sky.
Your fine motor skills are put to good use locating tiny crumbs on the floor and putting them into your mouth.and your dad has started a regime of at least once-daily vacuuming.You like to sit by the Christmas tree and try to pull ornaments off.
Your favorite time of the day is either bathtime with Lucy (which has become much more fun since you can sit up and play!) or dinner time, you get super excited about food and your hands are in constant movement while you wait for the next bite. You love bean soup with ham.
Your sister's favorite thing in the world is to make you laugh. You have four teeth and a family that loves you very very, very, very much.
Happy eight months!
Love,
Mama
