gearhead mama

Dear M,

You turned 20 months old the other day. Since I last updated about six weeks ago, you have blossomed into a new girl. You’ve gone from a few tentative words to short sentences (my absolute favorite being “Here I come!!” as you race through the house). If I had to sum up the last six weeks in one word, it would be “head-scratching”. There’s a lot of that these days, as we try to interpret the meaning of your words. When I put you to bed the other night, you started saying “becky” as I left the room. We don’t know anyone named “becky”, but because you are often insistent that we repeat a word back to you before you’ll stop saying it, I said “Uh-huh, becky” a few times, as I backed out of the room and closed the door. As soon as the latch clicked you started crying, and I stood there with my fingers resting on the door handle trying to figure out what the heck you were saying, as I clearly wasn’t getting it. And suddenly it dawned on me – “Blankie” (which comes out more like “benkie”). I’ve heard you say this word many times, and you love to be covered by your blankie when you go to bed (something I had refrained from that evening because it was a little warm), and yet this time it had flown right over my head. I entered the room to find you whining and tussling with your blanket. I smoothed it over you as you settled contentedly into position (knees drawn up, bum in the air), and went to sleep.

Sleep, my dear. What a difference we’re seeing there too. You are finally understanding what it means to be tired – and what the fix is. You point to your crib and ask to go to bed. Not all the time, but often enough. You rarely fight bed or nap time anymore. A year ago this concept was unfathomable to me (and you, too). But here we are, and boy am I glad for it. Not that things are perfect. You are still having some digestive issues that typically wake you once a night. But we changed up your homeopathics a few days ago, and while you’re still waking, you are settling back down a lot more quickly. My own sleep continues to be a frustrating endeavor, but I guess this is just something we both need to work on. I know we will get there eventually.

Nursing is changing too. I know where we’re headed, I just don’t know when it will happen. Soon, I think. The slow decline continues, and while you can still be insistent when you want it, I see the desire fading. You seem too young to wean, but I know you are in charge of this. It is a bittersweet moment to consider. To reclaim my body for myself, while simultaneously losing that last physical, nourishing connection that has joined us, in one way or another, for almost two and a half years. Even now, I feel a twinge of sadness if you reject my offers to nurse before your nap, demanding to be put to bed instead. I know it isn’t true, but it feels like you don’t need me anymore.

So you are growing up. There are sad parts to that, but happy ones as well. It is an amazing process to watch you bloom and mature. You are a kind and gentle soul, my dear, and that warms my heart so. When you saw two little babies in car seats the other day, you ran over and started rocking them. Your hand moved towards their pacifiers, but I stopped you and said the babies were using them. I was expecting a fight, but you accepted my explanation, and went back to happily rocking. You were ecstatic when you had the chance to hold the little girl. I cradled you, and you cradled her, and as you gently touched her face, it was all I could do to not dissolve into tears.

The world clearly seems like a joyous and bountiful place to you. When I scoop yogurt into your mouth, you dip your spoon in and feed me some back. When you were nursing the other day, you stopped, grabbed my head and started pulling on it. It took me a moment, but when you said “nurse?”, I realized you wanted me to nurse … you were trying to share the bountiful goodness of milk with me. I didn’t know if I should laugh or cry. Instead I thanked you for the offer, but explained I couldn’t reach. After offering up the other side and hearing the same refusal, you appeared satisfied, and went on with your business.

I don’t know how to convey the joy I feel, watching you during these moments. You are so kind and caring and thoughtful … traits I hardly expected to see in you at this age. Sure, you have your moments of anger and outrage, but the sweetness you bring into my life has been an unexpected pleasure. Every time I feel that to love you anymore my heart would have to burst out of my body; impossibly, my love grows. And then I realize that my heart has indeed burst out of my body. Because there you are, standing in front of me.

Love,
Mama