A few nights ago I snuck upstairs quietly to check on you. I tip-toed across your room and leaned over your crib and found you sleeping on your belly, peacefully dreaming. I stared for a few moments and grinned, but noticed that your hand was tucked underneath your body. That just won't do, so I gently lifted it out from under you.

As I did, your face lifted up off your mattress...

And a HUGE silverfish bug ran out from underneath you!

AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!

In a complete panic, I reached down to try and grab it with my hand, almost screaming but not wanting to wake you! I missed and had to grab again, this time enlisting the help of a stray burp cloth you were sleeping with because you're teething on it.

Petrified and disgusted, I checked the cloth to make sure the bug was dead. And it was. AHHHHHH!

Had it been underneath you? In your mouth? Chewing on your clothes? I ran downstairs to tell your dad, and as I did, I started crying.

And I bawled for a good 15 minutes. I came into the living room, "This house is NASTY!" I said. "It's DISGUSTING and I hate it and I want a new vaccuum that works and there are BUGS EVERYWHERE!"

I need to take this opportunity to teach you two important lessons about your father and I.

I am very, very, very dramatic when I want to be. I can be calm & collected if the situation absolutely requires it, but if something happens (like nasty bugs running out from under my perfect baby daughter's face?) then I completely lose my... stuff.

Your father, in all his wisdom, has learned me very well. He has read me like a book for the last 4 years and knows my reactions can be... theatrical at times. Unlike an immature or impatient observer might respond, your father knows to sit quietly and let me completely finish my ranting before saying a word. So for the next 20 minutes, I complained about the house. I complained about our vaccuum. I complained that I was a horrible mother for letting that happen to you. I complained about our bathrooms. I complained about our location (near the highway/a large section of wooded area). I complained until I was blue in the face.

PS) I did all this complaining while loading the dishwasher, because I was convinced the 9 dirty dishes in the sink caused the bug "invasion" - it had now become an invasion - to happen.

Once I was finished, exhausted from crying, exhausted from the time on the clock (almost midnight), and exhausted from doing the dishes... your father nodded.

"I've been researching while you were ranting. I'm going to go get a new vaccuum."

And he hugged me and left.

He knew what I needed.

That night we stayed up until almost 2am, cleaning the house.

Why am I telling you this story on your 7 month letter?

Because I want you to know that sometimes Daddy & I can't protect you from things like gross bugs and skinned knees. We'll want to, and we'll try our best, but we'll fall short. You're going to depend on us to not let you down, but we will, because we can't protect you from everything.

But please remember, my sweet girl, that we will do whatever we can to right our wrongs. We will stay up all night cleaning the house if we think it will stop another bug from ever entering the house. We will have a little talk with the parents of the kid at the playground that keeps pushing you down, making you skin your knees.

We will always do our best to show you that we're here, even if we can't pick you up until after you've already fallen.

You are seven months old. You love your lion-shaped teething toy, your blue Eeyore with crinkly ears, and your green dinosaur. You have started kicking your legs when people sing to you, and you hold onto your toes as if someone is going to steal them from you. You smile when I toss you in the air (this makes Daddy frown, however) and you like when I blow raspberries or smile at you in the mirror. You love laying on Daddy and watching whatever he does, and he taught you to stick your tongue out and wiggle it this month, so you've been doing a lot of that. You like playing with your marker box - you pick out a marker, lick it, and then throw it around. You laugh at yourself sometimes now, and it cracks us up. You love going to wrestling events, and you always nap at them so easily... which is so strange because you wouldn't dare let us hold you during naps at home.

Sometimes I think an addictive substance seeps out of your pores, because I smell you and kiss you and play with your hair all day and it still doesn't feel like enough. You're deliciously cute.

You are every good thing, packaged in a strong but tiny body. And we'll protect you fiercely for the rest of our lives.