The first thing that deserves to be shared is your emerging language skills. I called last month the Month of Talking and it was. And maybe the truth is that every month, from here on out, will be a new Month of Talking. You seem to come up with new words continually. Now you can say, “Up!” when you want to be picked up or get into your high chair or just be higher than you are. You say “More!” whenever you want to do something, well, more. That can be eating, or bouncing in Daddy’s arms, or playing in the waves at the beach like we did this weekend. We took you in, and I fully intended to have it be over after a few minutes because the water was really cold. But you couldn’t get enough and every minute or so, you’d point out towards the water and say, “More!” I’m sure that it goes without saying that we made several trips back into the water. You’ve also started combining words. We stopped to get lunch on the way to the beach and you had chicken nuggets for the first time. I handed you back a small piece, to let you test it out and see if it passed your rigorous inspections. It did, obviously, because the next thing I heard was you saying, “Mama that!” and your little hand was pointed up to the front of the car. I handed you back another piece and said, “This?” and you said, “Yeah!” It was very cute. And for the record, all of the exclamation marks that I’ve used have been intentional. When you make a remark, it’s never half-hearted. You speak with gusto.
Gusto isn’t just a part of your speech patterns. You seem to have become quite fearless in your movements. You’ve become a diver, though not off the high dive yet. No, your perch is the top of the couch. You climb up onto the stool that is there and then go head-first into the pillows. You’ll do this over and over, ad nauseum, and seem so pleased with yourself. You’re getting good at climbing other surfaces too. You climb on chairs, and the other day I came into the hallway to find you perched on top of the flour container that you’d pulled off of the shelf, perusing our mail pile. It has since been relocated. The biggest feat, to date, has been climbing a ladder at Papa’s house. He was helping me get things together for our beach excursion and had to get into his crawl space to do so, which involved climbing a ladder. You stood below and watched him disappear and then reappear, and then he and I set off to our car to put in the supplies. He happened to look up a few moments later and was quite surprised to see you already on the second rung on the ladder, smiling broadly. We made our way over quickly and he stood behind you, spotting you. And you just continued your ascent. You made it all the way to the second to last step and you probably would have gone to the top if we would have let you. You don’t have the ability to balance that well, though, and so we brought you back to earth. It’s probably a good thing. A friend used to tease me that my middle name must be Grace, an unlikely joke given that I have a decided lack of coordination, and I realized the other day as I watched you trip that you seem to have the same propensity. The thing is, your middle name IS Grace. I guess that we’ll just have to keep an eye out for ladders and cracks in the sidewalk to keep you upright.
Let’s see, what else? I suppose that I should mention you’re new flair for fashion, much to my surprise and a bit to my chagrin. Daddy woke me one morning on a weekend, when he had woken with you and let me sleep, and he the first thing that he said was, “It was all her.” And in you sauntered wearing a pajama top—but no bottoms—, pink wollen gloves, a belt around your waist, and a fisherman hat perched jauntily on your head. You’ve gotten into the habit of bringing us items of clothing to put on you and sometimes you’ll insist on picking out parts of your ensemble if we’re standing in front of your dresser when it’s time to clothe you for the day. And you LOVE shoes. You’ve learned to say that word with extra gusto. And you often insist on putting them on long before we’re ready to leave for the day. You like to wear my shoes, and Daddy’s, and you stumble awkwardly around in them. But more than anything, you like to put on your own and point to them proudly. It worries me, slightly, wondering whether the obsession has started early, but I’m hoping that you’ll be content with just a few pairs, at least until you stop changing sizes every three months.
You’re determined in your efforts, not just the application of footwear, which shouldn’t be a surprise. I remember my mother saying that I had started the Terrible Two’s at about eighteen months, and I suppose if I classified them as such, you’d probably qualify similarly. But I’m really trying to see them for what they are—at time in your development when you’re getting adjusted to having both an opinion and strong emotions. Those emotions often bubble over, particularly when you’re tired, in ways that you seem ill equipped to handle. And then you squeal, and throw your body back, and break into a full-on sob in nothing flat. But most of the time, if I give you a few moments and then hold out my arms to you, you’ll collapse into them. We’ve had a few full-blown tantrums where you seem to want to just register your disgust in every way possible and employ much weeping, wailing, and back arching. Eventually, you collapse into our arms and hold on for dear life. I think that you are as surprised as we are at that point by the outburst and are just ready to move on.
You’re moving on alright, straight into Toddlerhood and Childhood and other words that don’t really involve being a baby. You still are a baby, in many functional ways. But as the days pass, Daddy and I realize more and more that you’re becoming a full-fledged Little Girl. You look quite grown-up, between your lack of baby fat and full head of hair, and you say and do so many things that sometimes we have to remind ourselves that you still need us on nearly every front. It’s exciting to see you grow and develop and find your own path. And we’ll just keep following, and trying to keep you upright.
Love, Mama
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