Dear M,

You turned 15 months old last week, and I am late getting to this update, as usual. We’ve had a rough couple of weeks, due to teething and the reappearance of some digestive difficulties. (Why is it that we’ve always had a “rough couple of weeks” when I write one of these? Will that part ever end?) The teething seems to be over for now, and the digestive problems are mostly in hand, but that is fodder for a different post (or actually a set of posts I’ve been imagining in my head for many months that detail the various healing modalities we’ve undertaken). So I finally managed to piece together almost eight hours of sleep last night, and once again feel fit enough to string words into semi-coherent sentences.

Meowing is still your favorite trick, and you unleash a cascade of “Ah-ooohs” whenever you see a kitty, a picture of a kitty, or hear a kitty meow. You never do it when I want you to, of course, and no one but your father and I have actually heard it. People are starting to think I’m a liar.

We live between two city parks with fairly sizeable natural areas, and with the change in seasons we are once again getting a lot of wildlife moving through our backyard as they traverse from park to park. I pointed out three deer picking their way through the trees the other day, and you meowed. This is further evidence supporting my theory that you believe all animals are some form of feline.

You are still not talking, but I’m beginning to think you’re fooling with me. At the playground on Sunday, a little boy your age handed you a stick, and you looked at him and said “Thank you”. Unh huh. Your father swears you said “Thank you very much”, but I think that’s stretching it a little.

You have finally started doing a few signs, but I am often uncertain as to your level of comprehension. When I ask you if you want to eat and make the “eat” sign, you will sometimes make the sign back. Same with the “more” sign. You can match signs to those words, but I’m not sure if you understand what they actually mean.

I picked up Thai food for dinner last night, and desperate to silence the whining and crabbing from the back seat, I finally handed over a shrimp chip (a bad-for-you delicacy I had heretofore reserved only for me and your father). I heard nothing but crunching for the next 10 minutes, and when I removed you from the car seat you were covered with a fine spray of shrimp chip crumbs – some soggy, some still crisp. A short while later, you were safely ensconced in your high chair and stuffing your face with fruit and samples of our dinner, when your father walked over to you, shrimp chip halfway to his mouth. You promptly made the “more” sign. I guess I don’t have to wonder anymore if you know what that means.

We watched a Signing Times video a few times, and I’ve introduced a few new signs to our repertoire. You have made your own version of the “shoe” sign several times now, and when you see Spot emerging from his bath in a book, you make the “bath” sign. I’ve made the bath sign to you every night for months on end, and this is the first time I’ve ever seen you do it.

So you are clearly grasping the concept of words and signs, and the idea of communication. But apparently you believe it to be irrelevant most of the time. I can only imagine your line of reasoning. “Yes mama, I know that’s a kitty. You say ‘kitty’ every time we see the damn kitty. Everyone knows it’s a kitty, so you can stop saying that now, okay?” I guess I just need to hand you sticks and shrimp chips more often.

You are still an amazing eater, with eggs being the only food you regularly reject. You eat almost all fruits and vegetables, with brussel sprouts being one of your favorites. And no, I am not kidding. You eat all meats (including lamb) and will occasionally accept fish. Goat milk yogurt is an unqualified favorite, and is a staple of your daily lunch. So I may bitch and whine about your sleep habits, but you more than make up for it in the way you eat. I can’t imagine how frustrating it would be to prepare meals day in and day out, only to have you reject them – and I know many moms who deal with that reality. I guess what I’m trying to say is, thank you. Eating with you is truly a pleasure.

You have an intense obsession with phones, and I will be forever grateful to my friend Erin who suggested I visit a cell phone store and ask if they had any obsolete display models they were looking to get rid of. We came home with four incredibly realistic phones, and this goes a long ways towards satisfying your insatiable need. You are frequently seen wandering about with a cell phone pressed to your ear, having long, complex conversations. I don’t know who it is you’re mimicking when you do this. Absolutely no idea.

Although you won’t allow hat or hood to protect your head from the elements, you are fond of your father’s baseball caps – preferring to wear them backwards so the bill doesn’t obscure your vision. That whole part about seeing apparently gets boring sometimes, though, as you like to drape articles of clothing over your head and wander about the house, crashing into things and laughing hysterically.

You recently discovered the art of climbing, and can be found in the recliner paging through your books, swaying too and fro with abandon on your rocking chair (while standing … backwards), or up on the couch, marching from end to end. You quickly mastered the dismount, but something bad must have happened when I wasn’t looking, because at some point you became afraid to get down by yourself. You will sit on the couch and whine impatiently until I appear and offer my hands to support you while you scoot down. No amount of instruction on my part has convinced you to roll over and slide down on your stomach. I don’t know where you get that stubbornness. Honestly.

We had a brief run where you let me put barrettes in your hair, but no longer. They are ripped out with impatience and inserted into your mouth. Seeing as they’re small, and metal, and kind of pokey, I’d rather you not do this. So the other day I gathered your hair into two small sprouts and fastened them in place with rubber bands. Unfortunately, I don’t have a picture to document the incredible cuteness. You, however, were not pleased, and whenever you caught sight of yourself in a mirror, your hands rose immediately to your head and busied themselves trying to remove the offenders. Your fingers weren’t quite up to the task, and you ended up yanking on your own hair most of the time. This was accompanied by lots of frustrated whining. It wasn’t until you were allowed quiet, uninterrupted time in the crib (when you were supposed to be sleeping) that you successfully removed both rubber bands. That persistence? I do know where you get that. Sadly, I am the one in this family who throws her hands up in frustration, and your father is the one who sticks it out and gets things done. So you can thank him for that one.

Our approach to babyproofing seems to have worked fairly well. You love having free access to the main living areas of the house, making lap after lap, investigating corners, banging on the piano, sitting on the window sill, moving toys from one place to another. The bedrooms, however, are a whole different story. You are very inquisitive, and I do not have it in me to put drawer and cabinet locks on our dressers, nor do I want my drawers emptied onto the floor on a regular basis. So I keep the doors to the bedrooms closed. We have levers instead of door knobs, and I think this strategy will be failing us very soon. It looks like a trip to the hardware store is in order.

Halloween was last week, and I have to admit that I’m a bit of a curmudgeon when it comes to most holidays. I developed my distaste for Halloween as an adult when I was expected to come up with original, creative costumes in order to attend the requisite circuit of parties. I am a person who has not yet figured out how to tap into her stifled creativity, so this prospect filled me with dread and resentment. Couple this with living for years in a neighborhood where surly teens without costumes would appear on my porch and demand candy, and now living in a somewhat isolated area with low trick-or-treater traffic, and my preference is to turn off the porch light and not answer the door. Your father on the other hand, insists on buying candy every year, and so it was that he wanted to dress you up in costume, even though we had no intention of trick or treating, and had not been invited to any parties. I told him to knock himself out, so he bought you a little witch outfit at the thrift store. Only problem is that it was a size 3T. “It looked like it would fit her!” I know the sizes don’t always fit you when they say they will, but it has never been off by that much. You can see the result in the pictures here, and while it is definitely oversized, even I had to grudgingly admit that you looked damn cute.

I realize I’m going to have to do a little work on my holiday cheer in the coming years. Like finding time to put up a Christmas tree and hang lights. And maybe even buying a few presents. The thought sometimes brings out the crab in me, but for the most part I’m excited at the prospect of starting fresh with the holidays; remembering the wonder and excitement I felt as a child, and seeing it reflected anew in your eyes. What I’m really enthusiastic about is the idea of leaving behind some of my family’s dysfunction – which always seems to reach a fever pitch this time of year – and creating some new traditions for just the three of us. Ones that revolve around good food, time spent together, and lots of love. I hope I’m successful in my attempts to create many fond memories for you to look back on, and a happy place to return to when you’re grown and gone. With grandkids in tow.

Love,
Mama