25th Month

Dear Sarah,

I'm still counting months. You'd think I'd be over this by now. You certainly are. When I said, "Guess what? You're twenty-five months old now!" Irritated, you said, "No. I'm not twenyadigazziyife months. I'm two!"




Despite your lack of enthusiasm, I'm going to keep counting the months for a bit longer. In the whirlwind of your development, it helps me keep a small grasp on the enormous changes that seem to happen daily. Plus, I like watching your dad squirm when he's quizzed about your age in months.



And, the changes. Oh my gosh, the changes! You slingshot back and forth from a sweet, cuddly baby who wants to be wrapped in a blanket and carried around the house to an attitude filled monster that wants me to "Go away!" Yes. I've gotten glimpses of your adolescence and I'm terrified. Years filled with slamming doors and orders to get lost are waiting for me. At those times, boarding school becomes very appealing.




When you aren't having an extreme personality moment, you're most likely playing with your dolls. Your love of dolls is a wonder to me. With the utmost of care, you wrap them in blankets, feed them from bottles and pat them to sleep. You even comfort them with gentle phrases and hold them up to the windows to show them the world.





Regardless of what you're doing, tattling on your friends ("Eva got poo-poo on her hand."), making demands ("Can I have some milk? In a baby cup. In a PINK baby cup. IN A PINK BABY CUP!"), or watching out for our safety ("Here are some raisins. Don't put them in your eye."), you hold my attention and capture my breath.




Thanks for the impossible - a month that was even more amazing than the last.

Love,
your mama