Dear Sage,
All of a sudden you've grow a bit, just a bit. Finally you've gotten too big for most of your twelve month clothing and suddenly pants that you couldn't wear are wearable. Most of the length seems to be in your scrawny little legs. Like River, you are thin--very. I expect the doctor to question if I feed you at all when you have your next appointment. You have a great appetite most of the time and eat a wide variety of foods. I think part of this is that I am not afraid to let you eat solid, chunky items even if you don't have all your teeth. Though, you are making good work catching up in the tooth growing department. Only all your missing teeth (minus those canines) are coming in all at one time on only the right side. Even your teeth are particular.
As in all things, you are far more subtle than River. I'm always shocked. O, you understood that? O, you know that word too? O, are you speaking often--I didn't really notice. It's partly you being the second born and partly your no-nonsense attitude. Of course, you can do that. It's easy, isn't it? I watch you work to try to get on pants, skirts and shoes. Your desire to be independent is so strange to me. Here is my daughter who flushes the toilet, you knows how to wash her hands, that leans forward to have her nose wiped. All these small things that River didn't care about until he was much older. There you are demanding I must make your bed after nap before we can leave the room. There you are putting everything back when prompted. My neurotic baby. My watchful, intense little girl. Often overlooked because your are independent and quite but so bright. The neighbor was watching you and said you could identify, you friend, River's friend, and their Daddy in a family photo. It really surprised her and it surprises me too. You run about outside hardly needing me and so confident in yourself and your world. Fierce child. Silent but watchful.
When it took us too long to get you undressed for a bath, you just slid in head first while fully clothed. You are constantly demanding things, "Shoes. Outside. Walk. Bike. Bath. Toothbrush. Milk. Wawer. Chair! Chair!" You are a huge fan of the song "Baby Baluga" and sing it to yourself while rocking back and forth--your legs stiff and splayed. When I was reading a Diego book to River that featured a Beluga whale you almost lost your mind. You carried that book around singing the song to yourself and demanding I read the part about the whale. And when you aren't singing that song, you are chant/singing gibberish words to yourself.
Today I watched you chase your brother and his friend around holding a stick--because they were. I watch your pleasure when you get into a small chair at the library and flip through a book--just like your brother. Cuddled in your bed together, you laughed and laughed as he bounced you both up and down. Though you are quick to yell and cry. Getting angry that he is in your space or that the game has changed and you don't like the peek-a-boo bit. You liked the bouncing. Go back to the bouncing now! Yes, the tantrums have begun. The angry, limp body crying when things don't go your way. How you hate the word no. You won't be soothed so I leave you there to vent your rage. Eventually you stagger to your feet looking for me, needing the comfort you at first refused. How could I let you cry like that? How could I leave you on the floor when you were upset? Your face shows your betrayal. Your confusion. I can see the world opening for you like a flower. What do you do with this anger? This feeling that you can't express in any way but tears and your entire body folding over? Do I care? Yes, I care. I get angry too. I wish I could throw myself on the floor sometimes. I've even been known to yell just to get my frustrations out. A long, insane yell that makes you laugh. You laughing makes me laugh. It all passes. You learn to speak, to express. Then you whine. Then you turn four and argue and argue and argue. It's nice that River went before you. I learned so much from him that now I am more confident for you. While you are very different, you too will learn that all that crying and body flailing won't get you a thing. But yes, I will always be there with kisses afterwards.
You were sick this month. Some sinus virus with a fever and then a twenty-four hour bug of some-sort that involved an evening of vomit. (I caught the last one myself). I had you sitting on my lap when you started to puke. I thought it was caused by coughing so I caught your vomit in my hand. But then you continued. While Daddy rushed for a towel, you continued to puke all over me. Better me than the floor and furniture, I thought. Afterwards, we took a bath together. You nursed in the tub--naked body against mine, content and smooth in my arms. Nursing is such a strange thing. I never imagined it beyond that first year. How you'd want it for comfort. How even the site of my breasts makes you smile, point and say "Mem! Mem!". That you'd tug open my shirt and try to just help yourself when the mood took you. But nursing a toddler seems just as natural as nursing a newborn to me. It provides a source of constant comfort. You nurse when you teethe. You nursed when you had your virus and wouldn't eat anything else. You nurse when you are hurt or upset. It's like an instant relaxer. It brings you comfort faster than anything else. Yes, it is annoying to have a wiggly toddler in my lap--playing with my earrings, shoving fingers in my mouth, twisting this way and that with restless energy, but is it worth it? Yes. Oh, yes. As with all things, this time is fleeting.
How can you be one and a half? Only six months away from two-years-old! Wasn't I just pregnant with you? We're you just a chubby-faced little baby? You were, but here you are--vibrant, learning each day, curious, changing. I jokingly told River that maybe we should find a new home for you. "No!" he yelled. "She belongs here. I don't want to get rid of her!" You do belong here. You and River make me look forward to each day.
Happy half birthday, little girl.
Love,
Mommy
