I’d like to share a few of the high points of your last few weeks. You’ve learned a slew of cool things since the last letter, and I’ve only documented a few here for posterity. This month I’d like to announce to the public at large your brand-new fascination with “accessorizing”, as you have now started playing dress up with mommy’s stuff. Clearly you have noticed that your momma is a bit of a girlie-girl herself, or perhaps your fashion sense is, in fact, formed in utero. Either way, I find your taste in adornment fairly reasonable with only one notable exception: my panties are generally not acceptable as necklaces, no matter how festive or shiny or decorative they appear. I’m pretty sure all the emo kids aren’t into neck panties either, but I don’t have my finger on the pulse of current pop culture aesthetics. For all I know, panty could be the new black.
There was a short phase you went through this month that I found rather funny. You’ve started your own debate club with your daddy. In short, he was trying to teach you to say “Daddy”. It went a little something like this:
Your daddy (YD): “Dah-dee.”
You: “Mah-mah.”
YD: (more emphasis) “DAH-dee.”
You: “Mah-MAH.”
YD: “Dah-DEE.”
You: “a-MAH-Mah.”
YD: “No, Daaah-deee!”
YD: “A-MAH-MAH.”
As it turns out, your verbal sparring only precludes the latest in your personality development: THE TANTRUM. You, my little precious baby, have your glorious moments of beaming sunshine-awesome-child, but one little setback can turn you into a willful, belligerent toddler she-beast. I’ve witnessed the transition several times now, and each time I am stunned at the speed of your transformation and the ferocity of your toddler anger.
I know you would want us to take your outbursts as seriously as you deliver them, but as a coping mechanism, the Good Lord has seen it fit to give us the gift of humor. Dear One, when you see fit to pick a moment to pitch the most hellacious conniption you can manage, you’ll one day understand why your daddy and I have to turn away, biting our lower lip and trying SO HARD TO NOT LAUGH AT YOUR RAGE. We’ll try harder to hide our giggling fits from you in the future, for reals.
Related: The skills I’m learning this month are Tantrum Neutralizers and Distraction Techniques, which is kind of like toddler tantrum Krav Maga: Redirect, Control, Attack, and Takeaway. Gotta stay one step ahead of you, sugarplum.
Your daddy, as you’ll soon learn, is quite schooled in the art of the subtle pester. You yawn, he’ll stick his finger in your open, gaping mouth and poke your tongue. You walk past, he’ll snag a belt loop on your pants to stop you mid-step. In the off chance you happen to be wearing lower-cut pants and you just so happen to bend over, he’ll be sure to drop some foreign object down your coin slot. Take my word for it: he will do it. Yes, we call it a “coin slot” in this house.
The other night while you were strapped into your highchair, your daddy decided just then to tickle around your ear with the back end of a ball point pen that was nearby. Of course, you flinched and giggled, bending your head down in an effort to evade the caress of this strange object. This reaction only spurred your father, as then he began to tickle around the opposite ear. The two of you carried on for the next few minutes: you giggling and grinning, your daddy gently chasing the pen around from ear to ear, bedeviling you.
Eventually he grew tired of the game, and placed the pen down on the table next to you. Being your father’s daughter, naturally you snatch the pen and then proceed to stick the pen in your ear. Then you reached out, pointing the pen at your daddy’s ear. Who says kids don’t learn?
Hey Reese, we’re finally getting somewhere with this walking business! I’ve now coached you through several unassisted steps, and you like to practice standing in one place for upwards of a minute or two before you collapse onto your posterior in a fit of giggling. You seem to know that you are on the brink of something big – I can see it in the look on your face when you practice cruising from the couch to the table to the wall to the entertainment center to another chair to the desk to the other couch to the wall to the baby gate. Very ‘recently’, as in ‘just a few hours ago’, you’ve taken SEVERAL UNASSISTED STEPS across the room and I’ll made my prediction: You’ll be walking by Christmas. Now don’t make mommy a liar.
My favorite new name for you this month is Kissy Van Smoochy. Why is this? Well, because lately I have been watching you interact with your stuffed toys and your dolls. There is one particular baby doll that you treat very differently than the rest of your toys. I suppose this is because she’s looks enough like an actual human baby that you tend to carry and hold her much like I carry and hold you.
One night as you were playing and I was sitting next to you, you scampered into my lap, grabbed the nearby baby doll and pulled her up into your arms. You looked up at me, grinned your sweet toothy grin, then bent down and planted a loud, smacky kiss right on the top of her head.
Just like I do to you.
In fact, you’ve become quite skilled at the art of the kiss. Long gone are the days of the aimless, sloppy open-mouth baby kiss — now we get closed-mouth, lippy kissy-noise kisses. I think your daddy and I have started competing to see who gets most kisses from you every night. I think he gets more than I do, but at least I know *who* taught you how to give the smoochies.
The other night I came home from work and you and daddy met me at the door. I thought you were going to explode from the excitement! Smiling, hiccup-laughing, waving your arms — I don’t even know what I did to merit such an enthusiastic response, but I will tell you one thing: there wasn’t anything better in the world at that very moment then to have you be so happy to see me.