You are, right this minute, 11 months (and a few days) old.
I'm sorry your letter is late this month. I think it's just because I'm having trouble believing that you can be this big when just a few moments ago two nurses wheeled you into my room, you were in a white onesie with colourful animals, it was way too big for you, and you looked like a doll, your sweet lips pursed together. They undressed you while I ripped off my gown, skin to skin with you for the first time was the most amazing moment, you slowly unfurled yourself across me and rooted for a nipple. It was 6 hours after you were born, but that was the moment I was born, as your mother, your protector, your safe haven.
The speed at which the last 11 months have zoomed past makes me so happy that we choose to adopt attachment style parenting. I feed and rock you to sleep, I get to watch your eyes slowly flutter closed as you suckle. You still sleep on my chest every day. You sleep beside me every night. Sometimes I think it would be nice to put you in a cot and clean the house, or sit and drink tea and knit, but the closeness we have and your needs and comfort are more important than fleeting desires for a clutter free bench. There will be years for all that, there's only mere moments for this attachment.
You march around the house now, waving whatever around you can find, chattering loudly and banging things together. You're so sure of yourself, even when I have no idea what the purpose of your activities are, I'm sure that you do. You're careful and deliberate with all that you do. Everything is fascinating to you at the moment, it's a joy and a privilege to watch you discover your world.
I'm so grateful you chose me, my little bug, thank you.