Talking

You're finally talking. You can say many things as clear as a bell- "See it?!?" "Eat!" "Nope." "Walk Sip." "Choo Train." Other things you say clearly in your own way. "Mek Lee.", which, for those in the know, means "Pink Blanket", or "Duke" which means "Cold". Most of the time, however, you spend giving us a running commentary in jargonese. You have too much to say and not enough words to say it in. Hang in there. You'll figure this out eventually, and we'll be here with you the whole time, ok?

You have amazed us all by beginning to identify letters. You've been singing the alphabet song (with about a quarter of the letters) for a while now, but you'll surprise us by spontaneously picking out the letters "B" and "O" off of the TV. You can also count, after a fashion. One two and three are easy enough, but after that you usually rely on us for some reminders.

You are a very busy girl. It's so hard to take pictures of you because you're always in motion.

About half of your time is spent moving things from one place to another. You walk around the house looking for things to get into. Then you get into them. Then you pick them up and take them to the other side of the house. Then you put them down, preferably into a spot where they will be stepped on or made available to the baby for further mayhem.

Another quarter of your day is spent pretending/playing/bossing the baby around. The only thing better than playing in the kitchen is taking a pan away from your sister who is playing in the kitchen, then telling her what you're going to do with it.

The rest of your day is spent trying to become one with your blanket. You might cuddle up with it on the couch, thoughtfully sucking on the hem, or you might beg your Poppy to wrap you up in it cocoon style, or you might just walk around with a pile of all the blankets/stuffed animals you can find, even if the pile is so big you can hardly walk. Ok, maybe a quarter of your day is an exaggeration, but it is definitely an important facet of your life.

The one thing you don't spend much time doing is eating. You'll taste almost anything, and you'll snack on a few bites, but you seem to think eating is just too boring to bother with.

I love you dearly,
Please eat,
Mom

Mom

I wish talking weren't quite so hard for you. I can tell you're beginning to wish the same thing. You've figured out what this talking thing is for, but getting the words out of your mouth is just too hard sometimes. You'll try to say one syllable words if they are made of the sounds you are comfortable with, but you won't do two syllable ones or tricky words. You giggle instead in an effort to escape the moment.

The "P" sound is one of the tricky ones. Of course, when you were a little tiny baby we decided that your father was a Poppy, and the name stuck for the rest of us. You can't or won't call him that or anything close to that, not that you've chosen to call him Dada or Dad or anything like that either. You've chosen to call him Mom. You say Mom perfectly and use it to mean me or him.

Can I just tell you how much I love it? I don't know if it melts your Poppy's heart like it does mine, but I just love to hear you call him Mom.

Wondering if you'll still be calling him that in a few years,
Your other Mom

Dustbunnies

The apartment was empty and the only thing left on the floor was a couple of dust bunnies. The ceiling fan had them spinning in slow circles. You squealed with glee when you saw them - "Hello! Hello Buggies! Oh HI!" Then you cooed to them and caught them and brought them to me.

Pure delight.

Love you,
Mom

Fireworks

You saw fireworks for the first time today. I was worried it would be too much for you- loud things have always frightened you- but I thought we'd give it a try.

When the first one went off you were so surprised. When people began to make noises you got worried. When you realized they were laughing you laughed too. Then the loud took over and you cried. And you cried till the next one went off, but it was so pretty you said "Yay!". What worked best was for me to lie on the ground so you could rest one ear on my chest while I covered the other ear with my hand. Then you'd look up at the sky and it was ok.

I bought a hideously expensive balloon that came with a flashing light inside, and this you loved unequivocally. "Lello!! Lello!" And you'd bat at it and laugh when it batted you back.

So glad you had a good time,
Mom

Lovely

I love you so much. You are such a joy, but I'd love you even if you weren't. You're gorgeous, but I suppose I'd love you if you had the face of a sea cow. You're a hoot to play with, but I suppose I could do without that even.

I just hope you grow up knowing what a pleasure you are to me. I love hearing your lovely little songs. Your giggle is truly intoxicating. I love the look of concentration you get sometimes. I love to hold you, it's like holding a bird, only better because birds don't hug you back. I love your precious curls and your beautiful eyes.

Sometimes you crawl into bed with me, get under the covers, and then sigh with the most supreme air of satisfaction. Other times you see something neat and you run through the house saying "MOM! MOM! MOM!". I can't tell you how it melts my heart to hear you finally say Mom.

When it's time to go to bed you say "Eye?" because you want me to draw a kitty cat on your back, and instead of saying "cat" you name the part I draw that's the easiest for you to say.

I am so glad I had you. Deeply, truly happy you're my little girl.

Love you,
Mom

The cutest thing you do.

You are soooo two. Every single transition in your day requires a tantrum. Getting into your highchair, getting a new diaper, going into the house, leaving the house, watching someone else leave the house, waking up in the middle of the night....that one is my personal favorite. If you wake up in the middle of the night you don't roll over and go back to sleep. You get mad that you're awake and sleepy and you pitch a fit.

I give you choices. I let you know transitions are coming. I ignore your fits. I know this is a phase, I just really hope it's a short one because it tires us both out.

You are, of course, also impossibly cute. You love to play the "Hello" game, where we sit and say "Hi" and "Hello" back and forth. Throwing a sheet of paper and watching it swoop gives you hysterical giggles. The funniest thing, though, is your reaction when someone burps or farts. Do you wrinkle your nose and run? Nope. Your eyes light up and you draw in a big breathy "Ooooohhh!" , like it wasn't smelly gas but a rare,delicate blossom of rose scented wind.

Loving you so much,
Mom

The Sweetest Thing Ever

Other children learn to talk almost as a reflex. Words come tumbling our of their mouths like little building blocks that they stack in taller and taller towers as the days go by.

You've always preferred to knock towers over.

You babble just as much as the next kid, but the sounds aren't blocks that build ideas- they're marbles that roll out of your mouth and around the room. Lots of the tones and inflection that language uses, but none of the meaning.

Until lately. Now that you're two, you're starting to get the hang of talking. You've discovered that if you can make the right sound, the grownups will do what you want. It is so fun to hear you talk. Other children say things with an immediacy that implies their thought has just been made audible. You have to put effort into it, and the effect is that it seems you've cast a spell. You don't yell "No!"- you start to cry, then realize you should try the magic word. You stop crying, look up, form your mouth just so and say "Nnnoooo" in a quiet, slow, hopeful way. You've said the incantation and only have to wait for it to work.

The sweetest thing you say right now is "Hello". It is the spell that makes people light up with joy and laughter. Every time you say it there are cheers and "Yay"s, and people say "Hello!" right back. It makes me so glad that you share a room with us, because when I'm thinking I wish I wasn't awake I'll hear your "Hello" and smile.

It's such a relief to hear your lovely voice saying words,
Love,
Mom

Too much to post

I wish I wrote to you more often. I'm sure someday you'll wish I had too. I do write posts in my head, but getting them out and onto this blog takes time I don't often have.

I write posts about how cute you are. How perfect you are. How beautiful you are. I describe the cute things you do.

I write posts about how much I worry about you, not because I think you've got problems, but because the world is problematical.

I wrote a very heartfelt apology about bringing home a baby without giving you any warning. It's not that I didn't try- almost every day we'd pat my belly and tell you there was a baby in there. You were too young to understand. It was quite a shock to have her show up out of the blue, and I'm sorry to have surprised you like that.
Actually, you've handled it quite well. I think you think she's the Best Baby Doll Ever.

I write about the strange journey your body is on. It started out so small, it's no wonder you do things on your own schedule and in your own way. I'd be a liar if I said it didn't worry me. It worries me because I love you, and I want things to be easier for you than they sometimes are. It's frustrating for us all that you have so much trouble talking.

I write about how much I love you. Still haven't gotten that post right though. I'm waiting for them to invent words grand enough to describe how hard I love you. Maybe you'll be a mom someday, then you'll know how that post was supposed to go.

Love you,
Mom