17 months

You have left behind all things baby, and embraced toddler hood. Of course, you don’t do much toddling anymore. It’s all running and trying new daredevil tricks all the time.

You have this little push car that you LOVE to ride. You’ve figured out how to steer it where you want it to go. You laugh and push it excitedly up and down in front of our front door. You push it up the little hill we have there and then you turn it around and pick up your feet and coast all the way to the bottom. Not satisfied with that form of entertainment for very long, you’ve started seeking out bigger and better hills. And you get very angry when I stop you from riding down some of them.

So instead you decided to try and stand on the thing, no hands. And you can. You hold onto the steering wheel and get your feet on the seat, and then let go and stand as the little car wiggles underneath you. I’m sure this is in preparation for trying this while the thing is in motion and I am somewhat terrified of that day ever coming.

You also like to stick things in your nose. DON’T! BAD! STOP IT! Sometimes they don’t come out so easily. Like the little air soft gun bb’s that you uncle and his friends left all over you Beema’s house last weekend during his birthday party. You got one stuck up your nose so far that we couldn’t get it out, even with an aspirator. It was traumatic. I’ve never had a child who liked to stick things in their nose before. Other orifices? yes. nose? not so much. You will even stick tiny little bits of wadded up tissue in there and then come and point at your nose while making questioning noises as you stick your finger up after them. You seem to be surprised that the stuff you put up there stays up there. It should just magically disappear when you want it to, but it doesn’t.

While we’re on slightly less charming behaviors lets talk about the screeching. You are BOSSY! You know exactly what you want when you want it and you will push and shove and yell to get your way. Usually it’s my knees that bear the brunt of your fury as you try as hard as you can to shift me from the spot in which I am standing to go and get what you want.

However, you now have these magical things called words. You can say, “ou? ou?” and mommy usually realizes that you want to go out, or get out. It’s a very useful word actually. You can use it when you want me to let you outside or when you are finished eating and want out of your chair. That’s my girl, economy and efficiency. You’ve also mastered a few others.
Ba-ball
baba (While patting breast)-boobies or milk
BEba-bellybutton (Pointing at the belly button helps)
bah-bath
What I said about economy and efficiency, one syllable covers so many variations.
dada-daddy
mama-mommy
bumama-beema
dah-dog
bababa-banana
appah-apple
But my two favorites are please and hi. You say hi like all of the bigger people around you say it when they are awed by your cuteness, with a heavily aspirated H and full of excitement. The first time you said it I was coming back in from outside and you came running to meet me at the door, ducked your chin forward and yelled, “HHHHHHHHI!” and then I wanted to just kiss you and squeeze for the rest of my life.

Please was the very first word I recognized as deliberate besides mamamamamama. You held the sling up in front of me and, with great concentration you looked deep into my eyes and said, “Pease?” I asked, “Did you just say please?” and you broke into a very big grin and rubbed your tummy gleefully, your approximation of the sign version of please. It was an exciting day.

The other day we were all putting away our laundry and you jumped right in. You grabbed piles of clothes, they were even yours, already you can tell the difference, and carried them to you basket to put away. I’m still amazed that you can follow directions like that. Of course, once you ran out of things to put in your basket you started to pull them out and put them in the laundry basket again because you didn’t want the fun to stop.

You are in that crazy making grab at everything and throw it around stage of toddler hood. And you think that all of it is yours. We are big meanies who are constantly spoiling your fun. You scale chairs and stools and tabletops and counters and couches in your never ceasing quest for more stuff that you can trash, and stick in your nose.

And you are affectionate and loving and funny. Your siblings fight over who gets a hug from you first at bedtime. They don’t care if I hug them goodnight any longer, as long as you do it. You give hugs and kisses to all of us. You give your little baby friends hugs and kisses too, chirruping greetings at them when they walk in the door.

You are the main disruptor of routines around here, especially bedtime. You hang on your brother when he’s supposed to be brushing his teeth, begging him to play with you. And he obliges, a little too quickly, and I have to exert a great deal too much mental energy to the job of keeping him on task until he is in bed. But it is fun to hear the shrieks of laughter coming from the bathroom. I Love that my kids love each other, at least as much as they get angry at each other.

Today I was trying to lie down for a while in the afternoon. And if you wan to know why your mother was tired in the middle of the day I will point you to the chorus of siblings who woke up, in staggered succession for one reason or another and needed me at least every hour, ALL NIGHT LONG last night. You weren’t sure what to make of this arrangement but you were quite certain that it was not optimal for your personal entertainment. SO you brought me my shoes, and placed them on the bed next to my pillow. And when that didn’t work you dug around under the covers until you found my belly and then you gave me raspberries over and over again until I couldn’t help but laugh, at which point you threw your self down beside me with an anticipatory cry of delight and lay stock still waiting to be tickled.

You are a lot of personality packed into your little 20 pound body. It’s going to be fun introducing you to our family and friends in Canada.

Love,
Your mama