14 Months

Dear Lucy,

Today you turn 14 months old. To celebrate, instead of leaving for work at 5:30 a.m. and not seeing you until the end of the day, I stayed home and we had breakfast together. When I walked into your room you were so confused. “Hmmmm…you’re here. Is the doggie here? Is Dada here?” After a few seconds you decided, hey, what the hell, let’s be spontaneous today, and you started jumping all over your crib going “Hi! Hi! Hi!” And then you realized your Elmo doll was on the floor and totally forgot I was even in the room. Glad I mean so much to you, kid.

I went back and re-read some of my older posts about you, Lucy, and realized almost every month I say, “you’re becoming your own person” or “you’re so independent now.” I guess I just need to get over the fact that you are no longer that little blob that needed me for every tiny thing and you’re now a toddler with opinions and thoughts that are very much your own. Opinions on which cup you like (this one, not that one, unless someone else is using that one, in which case, you’d better give me that one…or this one), which is your favorite ball (whichever one is the one you don’t have at that very second) or what is your favorite food (Green beans! No, watermelon! No, green beans! I hate green beans!).

Have I mentioned your dancing yet? Oh well, I’m mentioning it again. Because, my goodness, child, your dancing is HILARIOUS! In all capital letters. You like to drop it like it’s hot or stomp around marching. You’re also a fan of twirling in circles. Twirling and twirling until you get dizzy and fall down laughing. And you really don’t care which music we listen to, as long as you’re able to dance. Your dad’s commented that it’s like living in the movie Footloose. I commented that he, your dad, hater of all 80’s movies except ones starring the Transformers, Ninja Turtles or Howard the Duck, just referenced Footloose? Really? I guess all those episodes of I Love the 80s that I made him watch in college actually paid off.

Also, you have huge feet. Huge and dirty. Like mine. This mortifies your father. But it makes me happy.

The one complaint I have from this month is that you’ve started running away from me. You think it’s a game, chase or something. If I set you down outside while I fiddle around for my keys, I’ll look up and you’ll be halfway down the block, laughing manically. Um, Lucy, stop doing that! And when I start after you, please don’t look back while you’re running to make sure I’m following. This just leads to you falling down on your face. Which is not fun for either of us.

You’re becoming such a fun kid, Lucy. You’re now someone I interact with and play with instead of something I just take care of. You still need me for some things, but I love that you know how to do things yourself, like sit and look at a book or talk to your dolls for hours. I adore your sense of humor, and I secretly died laughing when you whacked your dad on the head with your Elmo doll and the rock-hard Elmo eyes left a huge lump on his forehead. You thought that was so funny, and guess what? You were right. Thanks for making each day more fun than the one before it. And thanks for still needing me to stroke your hair when you’re sad.

I love you, little monkey.

Love,
Mama