Dear Sweet Boy,
You have become my tour guide. In the olden days (last month) I used to have to carry you around with me wherever I went. No more. But I’m still not permitted to rest. Now, when I want to sit down, you walk over and say something in baby language. You take my hand and smile. Then you lead me around the house. Sometimes to show me the kitchen with its wonderful unbaby-proofed pull-out spice shelf. Sometimes you bring me to the bathroom and say “Brwaah tsee,” and motion toward your toothbrush. Sometimes you just walk me around. Oh, and sometimes, if I’m really lucky, you’ll bring your little red coat over to me. Then you’ll bring me your hat. Then my shoes. Then you’ll take me to the door.
I was a little worried about your speech. But you are doing just fine. By eighteen months, the doctor looks for ten words. When we were on vacation over the holidays I became preoccupied with the ten words. Did you really have ten and why can I only count eight now? But since then, you’ve slowly built up your repetoire. Here are the ten you had then: Mama, more, no, ice, apple, appajooo (apple juice), Nana, Gamma… ugh. I can’t remember all ten. But now the word appajoo means three things: apple juice, up and open. Apple means, I want to eat something, fools. While spending a wee bit too much time in the living room with your Wii Golf-playing teen aged cousins, you actually said “Press A!” You’ve had other moments of saying pretty advanced-seeming words or phrases, but they haven’t stuck. Before you said any single words, you said, “I did it!” to A while playing a game that involved putting balls into a hole. You said that several times, actually. But it didn’t stick. You said, “Bulldozer” once. Cake heard it, too. Dowa is a new regular word. It means Dora, or TV. Oye. Our parenting has become far more lax with our second child. Cake drank water, not appajoo. He didn’t say a TV character’s name until he was around two: Weetwah. And he didn’t lay eyes on a video game until he was at least three. But I’m ok. I think you will survive, my little Truckster.
Have I mentioned your teeth? For the longest time you had only four teeth. Then, over the break you went on a tooth-sprouting frenzy. Now you have eleven. Three or them are molars. I think you are already working on one more. It is a little mind-boggling for the moms.
Oh, and you are quite the artiste. You love to color. It has been an exercise in restraint to allow you to color. See, you like to eat crayons. You know they taste bad, but it doesn’t stop you. So we take the big roll of paper and spread it over the whole top of the little table. Then we open the crayon box. Then we watch you. You color, broad sweeping strokes. You like yellow a lot. Then you look at us and slowly raise the crayon to your mouth. Little by little you are choosing to color more and test our grab-it-out-of-your-crayon-eating-hands speed less.
One more thing (who knows if anyone has bothered to read this far into my self-indulgent note… besides you, Grandma) 18 months is the only time in a person’s life when “no” really does mean “yes.” I am pleased to announce that you have figured out how to nod your head. YES! So now if I say, “Are you hungry?” and you say, “No!” You may actually nod your head while you say it. Then I know what you want. Whew.
Ok, I’m done.
Love you my smooshy lovey sweet thang,