Hello, sweet boy,
Out and about last weekend, Grandma B watched you toddle after your Dad and Charlie and said what the entire universe was thinking, “He’s so cute, I can hardly look away.” The adorableness is beyond right now — a combo of your silly faces, awkward motor skills, big blue eyes, and undecipherable, yet fast-expanding vocabulary.
Dad and I spent most of one night trying to figure out what “ho-hee” meant. You repeated it several times, then looked at us expectantly like we owed you money. “Ho…heee?” we echoed. You giggled at our foolishness, then offered a look of pity that I’m sure we’ll see again when you’re a teenager.
It wasn’t until you lunged onto my back like the Vitruvian Man that we figured it out. The light went off. Oooooooh, horsey!
Duh, mom. I’ve been saying that all night.
And so goes our our time together. You repeat everything you hear and string words together to form three-word sentences (e.g., “Mommy, hat on”). Instead of yes, you curtly nod and respond, “huh.” You are confident saying — and screaming — no.
“Heavy” is your descriptor for anything big. (“Mommy, truck. Heavy.”… “Mommy, train. Heaaaaaavvvvy.”)
You know most of your colors, with your favorite being blue, just like Mom. Dad counted up to seven tonight, and you answered, “Eight!” In the parking lot at work, you saw the word “SLOW” and recited the phonetic sound of each letter.
One unexplained development is your name for Charlie: “Doe.” We can’t figure this one out; Charlie sounds nothing like Doe! Grandma B thought you might be saying “go,” but we’ve heard it in context too many times to think otherwise.
We’ll hear you puttering after Charlie through the house, calling “Doe?… Doe?…Doe?!” He’ll yell back, “STOP CALLING ME DOE MY NAME IS NOT DOE!!!!”
You composed your first song a few weeks ago. While walking across the street to pick up Charlie from Allie’s house, you began singing, “Dooo, dooo….Aaa-wee….doo, doo….Aaa-wee.” I tried to get you to perform when we arrived, but you were distracted by her stairs.
Speaking of movement, you love to run (often on your tippy toes) and squeal while you’re doing it. You’ve learned how to climb up Charlie’s bunk bed, which is the closest I’ve come to a coronary. Charlie keeps encouraging you to do it because he thinks it’s funny to see me sweat.
I can’t tell if you’re getting along better with your brother. You’ve calmed down on the jealously when he’s near me, and you love when he chases you around the house, but you scream as loud AF if he gets in your space or takes something away that you want. The other morning, there was so much shrieking in our house that I wanted to invite smooching teenagers over for a reality check.
Your grandmas are so happy spending time with you. You still love to cuddle in the morning, even though your legs and arms have long outgrown my lap. You ask for my hand while walking down the street and your palm feels so tiny and perfect in mine.
My favorite parts of the day are when we first see each other in the morning and when I pick you up after work.
Your face lights up, you stretch out your arms and shout, “Mommy!”
And all I can say is, “Heavy.”