This month, you have officially turned into a toddler. Getting around on all fours is virtually a thing of the past. And, reaching above your head to get things that were previously off limits is a thing of the present. Just this morning you walked over to the chess board, grabbed a few choking hazards (a.k.a. pieces) and threw them on the floor. Thanks. I’m glad you could see I needed help getting more stuff on the floor since just last night I picked up all the stuff that was on the floor in anticipation of the housecleaner coming today.
You now drink undiluted cow’s milk from a bottle during the day – and in the evening you sort of half nurse, half drink from a bottle. When I’m around in the daytime, you have no interest in drinking from a bottle – to the point that your dad thinks you can somehow sense when I will be around all day so you don’t have to drink from a bottle. Thankfully, you still gulp down a couple of bottles with the nanny each day when I am not around so I don’t have to worry about you. Baby food is virtually a thing of the past when it comes to lunch and dinner, but on occasion you’ll still have a bowl of yummy baby mush to start the day. You even attempt to expertly guide the spoon from bowl to mouth – and while I wouldn’t say you’ve had extended success, you’re definitely on the right track.
Having become quite skilled at walking (and gyrating your whole body when you start to fall so that you somehow mange to stay upright much of the time), you have recently turned your attention back to communication. You know a sheep says “ba”, a cow says “moo”, a horse says “neigh” and a cat says “meow” – which you say in this really sweet high-pitched voice. Mims, Pappy, and Aunt Linda were all quite impressed when you displayed these skills via the phone. I swore I would not be one of those parents who teaches their kids tricks and then asks them to perform for others, but it turns out you are so irresistibly cute that I am, in fact, one of those parents. I’ve sort of reconciled it in my soul by saying it’s good for you to participate in conversations with others, even if your participation is somewhat canned. And that perhaps is the lesson I offer you this month. Rationalization. It’ll lift your spirits some days.
You have been known to carry on full conversations with but one syllable, and your little pointer has become your biggest ally. For example, if you wish to ride your little car, you simply point outside, then point around the house where the shed is, then point to open the shed, then point up at the red car, and then giggle with delight when your dad or I gets the car out of the shed and takes you on a drive. If you don’t want to do something, you look at us and say “nah”, in an oh-so-casual way. Yeah Connor, you’re cool.
A couple of days ago, you made it clear that you were going to try the age old strategy of “divide and conquer” when it came to your dad and me. You screamed in the middle of the night at about the time the Motrin we gave you before bed was wearing off. I went into your room, gave you another dose, nursed you backed to sleep – but then when I went to lay you on your pillow, you grabbed onto me with a strength known only to babies, looked up at me, decided I was intent on getting you to sleep in your bed, so tested your strategy. You looked directly toward my bedroom door, pointed that trusty little pointer and screamed “DAAAA DAAAA DAAAA” in such an insistent way that my heart literally broke. I thought to myself, as I tried to gather all the pieces of my heart up so I could glue them back together later, that there was no way your dad would hear you and be able to resist bringing you into bed with us. And Connor, now is probably when I should point out that in theory, I do not mind you sleeping with us. In fact, there is nothing cuter than a week or so ago when you were doing just that and after turning yourself around like a ferris wheel a number of times, you ended up with your head on your dad’s pillow. I looked over at the two of you snoring and sharing a pillow and knew that I was the luckiest person on Earth to have you both in my life. Tired (because who can sleep with all that snoring going on?), but lucky. In the end, neither your dad nor I get much sleep when you’re with us, and I’m not sure you get a very good night’s sleep either. Though your strategy seemed a good one, you miscalculated how hard hearted your dad can be in the middle of the night. He came into your room, gave you a big hug, told you he loved you, and handed you back to me as he went back to bed. Sensing defeat, you nursed again and went right to sleep.
Your smile, Connor, oh how I love your smile. I love the way you get excited and take the hugest inhale and then let your laughter ring through the room. It’s true what all parents seem to say at some point or another – you grow up fast!
Love,
Mama
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