gearhead mama

Dear M,

You turned twenty-two months old today. My dear, how is that you’re almost two years old? It has been two months since I updated last, and still you are changing at a ferocious pace. Your talking simply bowls me over. You have mastered abstract concepts like big and little, hot and cold, broken, fast, and slow. You tell me your blocks fell down, and the kitty is hiding. You know shapes (even ones like oval and diamond), colors and a few letters. I am not even trying to teach you these things; we just talk about them, and you remember. It’s so clichéd to say your brain is like a sponge, but I can think of no better metaphor.

You are still nursing some; mostly in the morning, with a few nips here and there throughout the day. There is a whole cast of characters that join us now – your doll, the pea pod doll, Grover, two dolphins, a teddy bear, stuffed dog, and today I even nursed a book. You tell me which side to nurse them on, and then you nurse on the other side, watching me approvingly all the while. At your father’s suggestion the other night, you nursed your little stuffed pig, and then held it up to his chest (we got a good chuckle at that one).

You are still fighting sleep, although there have been some minor improvements. Before starting on this update, I re-read the last one, and was shocked to see that just two short months ago you were pointing to your crib and asking to go to bed. What happened to that, huh? You are at least back to sleeping 12 hours at night, more or less; often without needing me, although you cry out briefly from time to time. But getting you to bed continues to be a struggle. I found some success for a while, holding you in my arms as I stood and swayed, the motion lulling you to stillness long enough for sleep to steal over your eyes. But you are on to me now, and twist and wiggle, kicking up one foot and then the other for me to kiss, insisting that I kiss you on the lips (how is it that you know I can’t resist this one?), singing Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star (or your version of it anyway, which goes something like, “Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, twinkle,” etc.). My arms are only so strong (although getting stronger by the day), and if I sit you insist on climbing about like a monkey. In desperation, I laid you down in the crib the other day and started rubbing your back. I fear this technique has had some unintended consequences, however … namely that I have turned you into a massage addict. “Rub! Rub!” you command, using your hand to show me where, and howling with anger when I stop. So we mix it up – sometimes rocking, sometimes standing, sometimes rubbing, and sometimes doing all three for an hour or two before you finally succumb. Patience. Patience.

But overall, my dear, I am finding this time to be one of utter, consuming joy. I have come to believe that you are a direct connection to universal love, sprinkling it like fairy dust wherever you go. As we walk down the street, you flash beautiful smiles and sing out “Hi!” to everyone we meet, melting even the cool hearts of twenty-something, hipster males, as their lips turn upward involuntarily, and they cheerily wave and sing “Hi!” in return. You are such a joyful child, so quick to smile and delight. Watching your sparkling eyes crinkle into half moons, your lips curving up to meet them, your legs flying wildly as you run about and shriek with excitement … I feel the energy of your happiness flowing through me, rooting me to the earth, and soaring with me to the heavens. There is no better way to fasten me to the present, to slip me into the flow, to help me forget about the mistakes of yesterday and the worries of tomorrow. I know that life won’t always be like this for you; it’s just not possible. But for now, at a time when happiness is simple, there are so few worries, and so many possibilities, I am content to follow in your wake, drinking it in.

I love you baby girl.

(Aplogies for the lack of recent photos; my camera was sent in for repairs six weeks ago, and still has not been returned.)