15 Months

Dear Lucy,

Earlier this week you turned 15 months old. I know this post is late, but it seems like the past month has been purpetually behind schedule. We had not one, but two trips to your grandparents’ lake cabin in Middleofnowhere, Kansas, spent a few days at the farm of your other grandparents, attended birthday parties, had sleepovers with your cousins and generally, had a ton going on. It’s been one of those months where I looked up and, BAM!, it was time to write another letter to you and holy crap, where did the summer go?!

In the past month, you’ve continued to grow and change, like you seem to insist on doing every month. You have become the constant entertainer. The minute a new person walks into a room your face breaks into a slow smile and you seem to realize, AHA! someone to watch me dance! Then you run over to one of your obnoxious, loud, music-playing toys, start up a rousing rendition of Old McDonald and begin your routine. Your father has been crafting “the routine” for the past few weeks and it mostly consists of shaking your hips, then jumping up and down, then raising the roof, with some possible strong head nodding and screaming thrown in to mix it up a bit. This dance is so funny, most people can’t stop laughing once you start, which just encourages you more. In fact, the more people laugh at the dancing, the more you’ll stop the routine to give yourself a round of applause.

You’ve also started to show a softer side to your wild personality. Along with all of the diving off furniture and knocking down blocks and hitting your father, you’ve started exhibiting some loving tendancies toward things you truly care about. Like your stuffed monkey. You hug that monkey. You kiss that monkey. You put that monkey in your little, pink rocking chair and rock him. You pretend to give him your milk. Monk is your little baby, and you care for him in the sweetest ways. It’s nice to see that side of you, as I was beginning to worry that I’d given birth to a wildabeast.

Lucy, you’ve also begun the great toddler tradition of testing your parents. I’m not so sure if I like this phase, but so far, it’s been managable. Partly because although your father and I don’t agree on some things, one thing we do agree on is diciplining you. Thank god. It’s not that you’re doing anything too bad, we can just tell what’s coming. Like when you climb into your rocking chair and then whine to be let out. You’ll whine and cry and scream and throw your arms into the air. And then, right when we’re about to break, you’ll stop, look at us, and slowly climb out of the chair. Just like we know you can. Then you laugh manically and run off. Gosh, I can’t wait for some teen-infused Lucy angst.

Oh, little monkey. What are we going to do with you? No offense to baby Lucy, but I think toddler Lucy is so much more fun. Spending time with you is like spending time with a good buddy. I look forward so much to our cool fall evenings and afternoons playing outside now that it’s not a zillion degrees outside. Thanks for always running around the park with me. And thanks for swimming at the pool almost every night for the past two weeks, even when it was boring. And thanks for learning to give kisses. And hugs. And for saying “mama” when you think I’m not listening. A small hint, Lulu: Mama’s are always listening.

Love,
Mama

As always, the format for these monthly newsletters is shamelessly copied from Dooce.com. Because I’m quite a lemming and very unoriginal.