Dear Cy,
Life has just exploded on us lately, and here I am writing your monthly letter late. For the first time EVER. I guess there’s always a first time for everything.
Cy, you are so different now! When I think about this:
or this:
or this:
(um Mom, my vest’s too big!)
It makes me laugh! It makes me reflect on how little we knew you, how much we GUESSED about what you wanted all the time. But also how we DID know you, too. Even though you were so young, we had glimpses of who you are.
Now you want to “haf one?” all the time. Whatever “one” someone else has, that is. “A bite?” of someone’s food is a constant request, until you look at whatever they’re eating. “La La Cool?” which means, “Will La La play on my road rug with me?” (Yes, you call it cool. Because Pop Pop brought it home and Daddy said, “That’s cool!” and Cool it is, forevermore.) You love to act out “Ok?” with EVERYTHING. And it goes like this:
sheep/car/spoon: Falls on floor
cow/other car/fork: Looks at sheep/car/spoon and asks, “Ok?”
It’s actually funnier than it sounds. Let’s hope it means you’re learning empathy.
You are also all into “Kiss to all-bettah?” lately. You get bonked on something and request a kiss, in a very specific spot (I think La La had to kiss the underside of your knee today) and even if you were hemorrhaging, I think you’d stop crying and say, “All-bettah?” Today you bit your lip while we were driving, and I thought you were going to FLIP A WIG because I couldn’t give you a kiss, I tried to blow you one, throw you one, just about everything you one and finally you understood what I was trying to do and looked at me like, “Really, Mom? That’s all you can muster?”
You eat nothing. NOTHING child. I read about other children that eat mixed vegetables and well…ANYTHING and I wonder. What it would be like. All you want is rice and “keese.” AKA cheese. In any form, mostly cottage cheese. And sometimes you have a ‘na. (banana.) It’s amazing that you don’t faint. All the time. You’ve taken to rejecting dinner and in a fit of frenzy and DESPERATION the other day I heard the words: “Kiki, Santa Claus and Jesus all WANT YOU TO EAT YOUR DINNER RIGHT NOW!!!!” come out of my mouth. And the thing is, I don’t think I was lying. Was I Kiki?
You’ve started to scale the gates, play the pee-no (piano), have had a few hour stint with potty-training (left off to another month, another day, because I realized that I DON’T HAVE A PLAN), watch Cars? Nemo? Manny? and you call Elmo BoBo. Actually, you call any Sesame St. character BoBo, which means I need to DVR it so you can get your facts straight before Pre-school yo.
The other day I got the genius idea to teach you how to sort! With noodles! I put four different shapes of noddles in a bowl, then gave you four bowls, and before I knew it you had sorted them out. Picking them up in handfuls, then using the other hand to sort them into the bowls. I was TRIUMPHANT. My child can SORT. And then you tried to eat them, and because I don’t know the Heimlich Maneuver well enough that ended that, but I think it’s time for some official projects and activities, just in time for the weather to turn cold.
I’m excited about our next fall and winter together, baby. Because no matter how big you get, you still need kisses and hugs goodnight and for someone to know what you mean when you want “Happy!” before bed. I really don’t like that Pigeon.
I love you so much baby.
Love,
Mommy
PS: Next month you’ll be two.
I know. Shameless.
