22nd Month

Dear Sarah,

Talking, talking, talking - that just about sums up the last month for you. You seriously ramble non-stop. Last night, while cleaning up after dinner and listening to your chatter for what felt like an eternity, my head was spinning, and I began to mentally calculate how many dishcloths I would have to shove into your mouth to dampen the noise. Your dad, sensing my distress, helpfully said, "Now, aren't you glad you talked to her continuously when she was a baby?" So, I jammed two dishcloths into your mouth, one rolling pin into his, and a large, cool gin and tonic into mine. And, the rest of the night was great!

OK. So, I didn't jam anything into anyone's mouth, but that's only because I'm a responsible adult, and we were all out of gin.



Back to you… With all of your talking, I’ve come to get a slightly better idea of what you’re thinking. You’re thinking about balloons. Yup. Balloons. No astounding revelations about humanities purpose on Earth, a plan for world peace, or even better, some really great stock tips so mama can sip cold drinks while lounging under the Tahitian sun.



You like to tell me all about the balloons that you’ve had, the balloons that you currently have, and the balloons that you will have. It’s like a rendition of a bad Julio Iglesias song, “To All The Balloons I’ve Loved Before”, if Julio Iglesias was a clown instead of a womanizer. That’s really fascinating and all, but did you know that the Tahitian air has been shown to cause mamas to spontaneously shower their children with cookies – chocolate ones? It’s a fact. Look it up! So, kid, you might want to put a little less thought into rubber bags filled with air and get cracking on the stock market.



At this point, as a proud mom, I’d write at least a few thousand words describing how you constantly surprise me with your ability to notice the most minute details. Like just this morning, after seeing me for no more than a few seconds, you pointed out that I was wearing a new belt. Then, I’d gush about how amazing I find all of this and how it must be direct proof that you are the cutest child ever born, but I won’t. I can’t. I have a job - a job that doesn’t pay me to prattle about my child. So, when you’re older and read this, just know that your most important childhood moments were largely lost due to your mama’s need to work and that all of those memories could have been preserved if only you hadn’t loved balloons so much.



Love,
your mama