newsletter: month sixteen
Yesterday you turned sixteen months old, but I didn’t write you a letter, because we were busy having brunch with beloveds and then sending you off on your first ever sleepover.
This is what happened: you had a good time, slept over eleven hours, ate four scrambled eggs for breakfast, and generally had a good chill time with a newly-turned-seven-year-old Simone and her family. And mama got to have a date and remember what it’s like to be a grownup. Oh, and sleep without being woken up by a hungry barnacle. I believe we both win the weekend.
Other than this momentous paradigm shift towards more sanity for your grownup, the world is just the same as ever. Ho hum.
YEAH, RIGHT. Like this age is ever ho hum. Let’s see:
You’re walking on your own, a bit unsteadily—and climbing too. Onto the toddler rocker, onto a coffee table. Onto play structures at the playground, with a little help. Today you went up the slide part of the play structure with only a little assistance. My plan to have you running by the time our road trip rolls around is proceeding apace.
You’ve been eating almost everything you’re offered, though some things really aren’t very fun without molars. No molars yet, though teething. Some favorite foods are artichokes, creamed kale, sardines, and chocolate pudding—not all together. Artichokes in particular are satisfying: they’re food you can scrape off leaves with the teeth you have. Fan-freakin’-tastic.
Books are finally gripping. You’ve started bringing them to me for reading. You demand this with heart-rending earnestness.
You say people’s names. Martin is mah’n. Imre is mee-meh. Babushka is baba—you talk about her every day. Every cat is Aki.
You play my guitar and then stand there, shaking in ecstasy.
You recite eeny-meeny-miny-moe: it comes out meeny-meemeeny. You sing along with chickadee-dee-dee. You keep the biggest blueberry in reserve. Sometimes you share.
Tectonic changes, my kidlet. Hope I can keep up with you.
p.s. Life in pictures.