For Mo


He was here. Four years hasn’t changed that, nor could forty.

Sometimes I wish there were rhyme or reason to the universe, but clearly (to me, anyway) there just isn’t.

There’s never going to be a good reason why I got to bring Ike home safely but Mo didn’t get the same chance with Nadav.

Shit doesn’t happen, in life or in death, for reasons that can actually help us deal with the shit that happens.

There isn’t a damn thing I can say that could help Mo feel less alone…but I can remember. Even if it is in the abstract, which of course it is for me, I can remember what I remember, if not what Mo can. And so I shall.

Counting kicks and crying at my desk at work, wondering how the fuck could this possibly be okay, ever….

He was here.

Bitter Infertiles Returns – With Your Help

You may or may not remember Bitter Infertiles, a podcast about ladyparts.  It was great.  I miss it, every single time I scroll through my podcast subscriptions and see the little Allie Brosh meme-icon.


Sounds like it’s coming back – though details are TBD.  Please go read Mo’s post, and let her know if you want to be part of the next generation (seewaddeyedidthere) of bitter infertile podcasting. Cristy also has some things to say about the void left without the continuation of this podcast.

Yes, I think there was some drama regarding the fact that at one point, all the hosts were pregnant at once…and then, there weren’t any more episodes.  It was sad.  BUT THERE CAN BE MORE.  Perhaps, and perhaps most likely, orchestrated by people (I should backspace and write women, but if men wanted to be in on it too I think that would be very cool) still in the trenches.

Having a baby via your own body or someone else’s, or adopting, or coming to terms (or not) with living child-free/less, or resolving your infertility in some other way does not render one magically fertile, so I was never personally taken aback by the former hosts’ pregnancies (admittedly, perhaps due in part because Ike was born a few months before the first episode was up). Regardless, I am more than okay with this invaluable resource being revived, in whatever way possible. Bitter infertiles, resolved or not, unite!


Dear Ikey,

Today you are two and a half. Yikes! You’re hilarious and maddening, changing back and forth between the two minute by minute.


You love Spider-Man. I still somewhat regret letting you see the cartoon (a leeeeeeeetle violent but you insist it’s not scary), but it is your FAVORITE and so you spend most of your upright hours running and sliding (a la Risky Business) and crashing and repeating, because SPIDER MAN FALLS DOWN AND HE STANDS BACK UP!

You do not like long sleeves, which is unfortunate given that it’s now December. In Ohio. But I love the way you constantly push them up past your elbows, like you are forever about to begin a dirty job.

You don’t seem to have much interest in potty training for real, but you’ll sit on your little potty most of the time when asked, and even occasionally have some success – though you get so excited after a drop or two that you have to stand up and inspect it and tell me what shape it’s made in the bowl (spoiler, usually an oval). Thing I never thought I’d be saying so often: YAY, NOW TRY AGAIN TO GET ALLLLLLLL YOUR PEE OUT THIS TIME. For a while I think your local grandparents were pushing it a bit much for your comfort level, probably something along the lines of “babies wear diapers,” so every time I called you or asked if you’re a Big Boy, you said NO. JUST A WITTLE BABY. Lately you seem a bit more comfortable with that designation. You’re done nursing. Last time you asked was Thanksgiving night, after a long, long, fun but napless day at Aunt Susie & Uncle Chris’s house. Wasn’t much worth it at that point, for which I’m a little sorry, but the gradual way you weaned was just about perfect. I’m somewhat sad to no longer have you as a nursling, allowing me to think of you more as a baby than a little boy, but you’ve come around to allowing and even asking for more hugs, and if you’re really ready for comfort I can rock you back and forth like a slow dance. Getting to snuggle you this way is just about my favorite thing in the world right now. I hope you won’t grow tired of it anytime soon.

You don’t seem to have a strong recollection from last year of what Christmas festivities are all about, but you’re looking forward to it in a general sort of just-learned-this-word way, and love to see the BEAUTIFUL CHRISTMAS LIGHTS and the BEAUTIFUL CHRISTMAS TREES. I’m sure the sight of wrapped gifts will ring a bell from your birthday, and I can’t wait to see you tear into the few things we’ve got for you. It’ll be another chance for you to practice the manners I’ve been trying to drill into your vocabulary. You do pretty well with Please, though sometimes Thank you and You’re welcome make amusing switches. For a long time after every burp or fart I heard I’d ask what that was, prompting you to say Excuse me. Now if I don’t actually hear it happen, you are quick to grin and ask WHAT WAS THAT?!?!

You assign phrases to certain people. One time I called you Punkin, and you quickly corrected me: NO. DADDY CALLS ME THAT. When I asked what Mama calls you, you were equally quick with SUGAR. Only Uncle Chris is allowed to ask about PAAAYYAAAAMAS! And only Grandpa can say Sorry, Charlie. You’re so funny. We love you so much.


Just Write

[Oops – this was supposed to publish Saturday, but apparently I saved it as a draft instead…still not gonna proofread, though, so let me know if anything is particularly unintelligible, please and thank you.]

Yet again it’s been ages since I sat in front of a new post screen to write anything other than a letter to Ike; unfortunately, what brings me back again fits my past pattern pretty well. As much as part of me would prefer to let it all go unwritten, the rest of me knows better – this infertility bullshit, my own experiences with RPL, is what prompted me to start writing so many years ago (I think my first post was almost eight years ago, but verifying that can wait for now), so it would be incomplete at best and dishonest at worst to gloss over or omit my latest round, complete with a brand-new-to-me variation: ectopic (probably, anyway?). I am in the car, just starting a long ride home after a week’s vacation, so this is sure to be poorly organized and probably a less than complete account of the whole mess, but my intention is to JUST WRITE.

So much of this pattern is ridiculously predictable for me at this point: not trying/not preventing. At my last annual appointment with my OB, I asked whether I should presume that I would need the same elaborate pharmaceutical cocktail if/when we wanted to try again. He basically said it was up to me, that sometimes it is possible that a successful pregnancy can in some way reset things, so if we wanted to try without all the meds first, feel free. I wouldn’t say I felt very free about it, but I was both hopeful and skeptical that it could be so simple a second time around. Way too scared to actually TRY, as usual, but willing enough to be semi-oblivious and know conceiving was at least possible, timing-wise, especially as it happened mid-Aprilish. Come the beginning of May, I was suspicious, hopeful, terrified to actually test. I was probably four or five days late when I finally did, on a Saturday morning. Clear positive, no squinting required.

Next part of the pattern: the end begins pretty much before the pee’s even dry on the stick. I’d tried to go on about my day as usual, pretending hoping to be self-convincing that it’ll all be fine, so it’s fine, JUST BE FINE. Mike and I even had a conversation about age gaps and another crib versus not converting Ike’s to a toddler bed (not that he ever slept in it, frankly). Stuff we never even pretend to think about for the most part, let alone talk hopefully about. I dared to be pleased that this was the next to last cycle that would have allowed me to escape the AMA label.

Dumb, dumb, dumb.

Mike got ready and left for work, Ike woke up and we took our time getting ready for a story-time event at the library, stopping first to meet a friend at a local garden center to pick up tomato and pepper plants. I made it through the stories at the library, but as I was chatting with a few other moms afterward, I had the feeling that I ought to hit the restroom and either confirm my fear or calm my paranoia, hoping for the latter…but finding evidence of the former, of course. Of fucking course. Nothing emergency-level, but clearly more than spotting.

We leave. I ought to have taken Ike home for lunch and a nap, but Mike is still at work and I really don’t want to be alone with my thoughts, so we go to my friend’s house to pick up the plants she hauled for us, and end up just staying for the afternoon. Ike skips his nap in favor of way too much Daniel Tiger and Super Why on Netflix; I send my OB an email to request an order for a Monday beta and crack a beer. That sounds foolish, I know, because it could have just been “normal” bleeding, right? Except, you know, the pattern.

On Monday my beta is 100 even. Two days later (they wanted to wait a week but I said please, no, this is not my first – nor third for, that matter – rodeo) it was down to 63. Seems like a(nother) simple chemical. I go ahead and make a follow-up appointment with my OB. Clearly I may as well go ahead and collect all the prescriptions, then take my time filling them and deciding when to actually put them to use. I am thinking I should try to enjoy the summer and maybe we’ll go for it in the fall, or even wait until winter depending how antsy and anxious (the pattern) I feel. One week later my beta’s down to 17. Seems like a nice steady drop, and the bleeding has already stopped; per the pattern I’ve had pretty minimal pain. Nobody called or emailed me to say they’d ordered another test, and I didn’t assume they had*, my f/u appointment scheduled – meaning I didn’t have another beta drawn for…almost three weeks? Shit. At my appointment I asked all my questions about whether it was worth repeating any blood work (for causes, hoping we might see a reason to eliminate even one of the meds I took for my pregnancy with Ike – not likely); he wrote me scripts for met, clo.mid, pred.nisone, and a folate complex for MTHFR, formulated at a compounding pharmacy (not sure if that test result can vary much over time or not, but I was negative a few years ago); he also ordered a test to check my vitamin D levels, and oh yeah, let’s go ahead and check beta hCG one last time…since that order’s still in the system and all.

So, that was dumb, too. It was back up to 65, and then two days later only down to 52. Because it was so early on, my levels had never been anywhere near high enough for an ultrasound to be of any use, my OB was thinking ectopic. Methotrexate for me. Whee. I will save my rant on the logistics of that whole fucking fiasco for next time. Three days after the shots my beta was 7, and on Ike’s birthday it was < 5.

I am going to call that the end for now, lest I wear out my thumbs or find some reason not to post this at all. It’s a timeline of sorts, at least. I’ll try to come back and rant/reason again soon. I hope this finds anyone still reading well.

* NOT per the pattern

Twice Around the Sun

Dear Baby Ike,

Wednesday of last week was your second birthday.  If I am to believe the subject lines of emails, this means you are now a preschooler!  But let’s be real – Mama will keep calling you Baby Ike, at least on occasion, as long as she can get away with it.  At the same time, you are certainly becoming a true big kid in some ways, so I will compromise and try to come to grips with the fact that you are at least solidly in the toddler range – technically you most likely will not start any kind of preschool program until next year, so I can for now at least semantically justify the procrastination of using that next categorical designation of tiny human.

Most of the time now you refer to yourself as Ikey, a nickname which grew on me more quickly and more fiercely than I anticipated.  When Grandma first started calling you that I honestly wasn’t sure how much I liked the sound of it, but coming out of your own mouth it seems 100% fitting.  All the other things coming out of your mouth, which are way too numerous to even attempt to quantify at this point, are nothing short of astonishing.  For barely two, you are quite verbal. You want to know the name of everything (WAT’S DAT!) and spend a lot of time identifying things and people you’re quite sure of (DAT’S MOMMY. DAT’S A TEEVEE!).  You repeat lots of new and old phrases every day, earning your moniker of Little Parrot (IKEY’S A WITTWE PAWWOT), and your sentence constructions and emphasis and expression never fail to impress me (WAT’S GAMPA DOIN’ OVER DERE?).  We’ve only had a handful of incidents (so far, anyway) in which you repeat somewhat unsavory things you overhear Mama or Daddy or one of their friends saying – the best of which had to be the time at Aunt Jeni’s house when the XBOX remote’s batteries died, meaning we couldn’t set you up with yet another episode of Daniel Tiger or Super Why.  You immediately declared this injustice to be BULLSHIT!  Nice use of context, I guess?  I don’t think anyone even tried not to laugh.

Your love of reading and books continues; you can pretty much recite the entirety of The Very Hungry Caterpillar, and the expression you use for each turn of events kills me dead every time.  As much as I try not to let you insist and win on reading AWWWWWW DESE BOOKS before every bedtime, I’ll always let you sneak that one in before lights out. I need to enlist someone to help me get it on video soon, before your pronunciation goes up another notch toward proper – it’s already making me nostalgic for the time when the remotes were MEAT-MOTES and you didn’t have the S sound down pat yet.  Even Gamma and Gampa now sound more like Gramma and Grampa, though the Rs are still a bit W-ish.  I have, however, developed my own private conspiracy to keep you saying rhino-nocerous.  I have to think and say it very slowly to get it correct myself anymore.

You’re solid on the ABCs, colors, and basic shapes, and most of the numbers up to but not quite including 30!  I’m not sure you get the numbers concept nearly as much as you do letters (N. E. T. F. L. I. X. – DAT SPEWWS NETFWIX!), and you usually try to skip over 14 through 16 or 17 to get straight to 18, with a similar pattern through the 20s, but I’m still pretty astonished that you seem to have absorbed so much, so fast.  Sesame Street FTW?  Speaking of the Street, we had your birthday party on Saturday, and the word of the day was FUN.  In no particular order:

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Like last year, you were more interested in the fruit on/in your cake(s) than making a big messy cake-face, but at least this year we did not have to resort to putting Chee.rios in the frosting just to entice you to take a bite.  I’m pretty sure you had a great time.  A few of your friends were able to come, and you all had big fun playing in the pools and running around in the yard and in and out of the house.  You stayed up waaaay past your normal bedtime, and showed off some of your new imaginative play skills (pretending to be a dog and barking, which sounds remarkably like Dexter, at the window and the front door – when asked what you’re barking at, you reply DA MAIWMAN). You definitely have an independent streak, which I love to see (IKEY CAN DO IT AWW BY HIMSEWF!), even when it means slowing the progress of some tasks or activities to match the viscosity of molasses.  You’re also starting to show more of your imagination in playing with toys, feeding blocks to the caterpillars (because they’re VEWWY HUNGEE, you know) and prompting me to feign sadness (MOMMY SAD!) so you can give me kisses to cheer me up (you bet I’m a sucker for that game!).  I started asking you to “Guess what!” a while back, and answered for you with “I love you,” which you’ll now say back most of the time. That is, when it’s not an Everything is No (NO EVERYTHING NO!) time of day.  If it’s time for everything to be NO! then you say NO WUV YOU instead, but most of the time I can turn that into Mommy Sad and still get a kiss (tricky Mama!). Sometimes it morphs into I WOOF YOU, which I guess is Dog for the obvious?  You haven’t really explained, you just laugh (DATS FUNNY!), but it seems like a fairly educated guess, and perhaps your first pun.  We practiced a couple of those last night, and while I’m somewhat doubtful that you really grasp the concept of jokes with words yet, you definitely do enjoy it when DAT SOUNDS FUNNY!  Or, now, DAT’S PUNNY!

You also got your first haircut last week.  I was rather loathe to dispense with your natural, spiral-curl rat-tail, but even without it some curls remain.



After, without much humidity

After, without much humidity


It’s already been a great start to summer with you, Ikey – I’m so looking forward to the rest of it, and to everything that will follow.

Love you much,


21 Months

Dear Baby Ike,

As of this last week you are 21 months old, and hurtling headfirst toward your third year.  I’m not sure you completely grasp the concept of a birthday, but we do often have a little rote-memorization conversation geared around it:

“How old will you be on your next birthday?”


“Right.  And how old are you now?”

“None.” [holds up one finger]

“Yes, one.”


“Yes, one year old.  What happens on a birthday?”


So we’re definitely looking forward to that.

I rarely capture a decent photo or video of you when you are anywhere but trapped in your highchair these days, so I try to get at least one video every weekend.  The rate of language acquisition for this stage is still a bit mind-blowing to me.  You can name all the letters of the alphabet, can count to ten (and then to twenty, sort of – you’re clearly a bigger fan of some numbers than others), name almost all of the shapes in your shape-sorter toy, and are much more confident about identifying colors than even a month ago.  It’s crazy to me.  I don’t know why, but every time you display a new bit of knowledge, I’m all, WHAT IS THIS TODDLER SORCERY?!?

A few weekends ago it was actually warm enough to play out in the backyard for more than a few minutes, and as you ran around throwing a tennis ball for the dog, offering him sticks, and sniffing/hand-mulching last summer’s dead black-eyed Susans, you started chanting “GOOD ENOUGH.” For several minutes I wondered how I’d already set the bar so low…then I also heard a refrain of COOKIE, COOKIE, COOKIE and was thankful you were only quoting that particular monster’s most famous song. Phew.

Your assertion of independence is showing up right on schedule. Every task or activity is a split between HELP ME (still sounds more like HOLD ME at this point, but I definitely know better) and NO! IKE DO IT! Your love of books continues unabated, and your affection for Sesame Street has morphed mostly into a constant begging for TEEVEE ON so you can watch the ‘songs.’  One awful-weather weekend of this never-ending winter I made the (genius?) mistake of searching for Sesame Street songs on the You.Tube app on the X.BOX rather than just pulling up full episodes on Net.flix.  There have been more cold, gross weekend days this winter than I would like to admit during which we went through the loop of these favorites more times than we should have:

But it’s hard to have many regrets about it yet.  When TEEVEE ON is not an option (which is way more often than you’d prefer – screen time what?), you’ll quickly resort to requesting MOMMY SING, and hahahaaaaaaa mommy is no vocalist, but you still get a kick out of my Bruno Mars or Elvis Costello. I’m particularly proud of my Usher, frankly.  We’ve also watched some of the new Cosmos series with you – while it’s not entirely age-appropriate, it’s definitely Mama-approved TEEVEE.  I think you’ve picked up on that, because when we won’t let you have YYYOOOO-TOOOB, you’ll inquire about second-best NEIL?  It’s hard for me not to give in to that!

Lately you also love asking for TUMMY (tickles) and CHASE IKE and most recently ZERBITS (belly raspberries). Sometimes a combination of the three is the only way to get a clean diaper on your butt.  We recently introduced potty chairs, but you rarely have any interest other than disassembling them or perhaps sitting on them fully clothed.  You’re much more interested in the BIG POTTY (until you slam the seat or lid down on your own fingers, of course – that seems to be a lesson you need to learn the hard way more than once, somehow).  We’re in no hurry yet, but I remain hopeful that some extended naked time this summer will change your mind about the whole deal – probably famous last words on my part, but we shall see.

Some of the things I end up putting in these letters are more to remind myself, years from now when I can’t believe I’ve forgotten when you first did this or that or stopped doing the other thing, than things you’ll probably ever care about:  you still nurse here and there, pretty much only before sleep, on evenings when I am home for bedtime and/or weekend naps. Your separation anxiety seems to come and go and take on different forms these days.  This past weekend I spent Saturday night out of town, and your father reported that you were pretty pissed I wasn’t there on Sunday morning, even asking him to NURSE (just wouldn’t have been the same, I know, but I applaud your sense of egalitarianism, young man).  If you wake up in the middle of the night, which isn’t often anymore, you’ll usually ask for CUDDLE these days rather than to nurse.  So while I don’t have any particular cutoff point of weaning in mind (yet), I think we may be nearing the end, an idea which is bittersweet for me.  I never thought we’d go much past a year, but there doesn’t seem to be any pressing reason to wean, either (I quit pumping at work around 16 months).  I’ve been making a fairly conscious effort to give you plenty of Daddy-time lately (to not gatekeep, since there has never been any need nor any benefit – though I’ve seen lots of families do that, I didn’t always have a name for it), since when we are both home he sort of gets the cold shoulder from you at times, me being the “anchor parent” for now.  I think it’s helping, though it may just that we’re nearing the end of the phase, or at least the worst of it – you spend Wednesdays with him rather than with Grandma now, and this morning when I left for work there were no tears, just kisses. But you do still have a canine-like dislike of ‘strangers’ on your home turf(s).  When an appraiser came to Grandma’s house one day, you were terrified, and when a friend of your father’s stopped by this weekend while I was gone, the same reaction.  FREAKED OUT.  But you love to go out and see other PEOPLE!  And CHILDREN!  If we had more any money to spare I’d start you in preschool now, but sadly it’s going to have to wait a bit.  I recently found out that a local children’s museum also operates a preschool, and can’t quite stop lusting after the idea, despite the tuition being RIDICULOUS not exactly affordable for us.  It would be SO COOL to send you there, even for a short period of time.  Right now it doesn’t seem possible, but…a few years ago, neither did YOU, and that worked out pretty well, didn’t it? (YES, YES IT DID.)




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Daddy makes COOOOOOKIES (oat-a-meal, in Ike-speak).

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From back in November, at your Uncle Mikey & Aunt Steph’s wedding (ringbearer – box full of Cheerios only).

A crazed grin is better than no grin ‘tall. (Photo credit to your ‘Aunt’ Jeni)

One Point Five

Dear Baby Ike,

This month you had your second half-birthday.  Eighteen months!  This holiday season has been quite a whirlwind, and you have reached such a fun stage in your development. I apparently didn’t use much of my vacation time all year, so I ended up being done with work for the year a week and a half before Christmas; having all these days to spend with you has been ridiculously fun thanks especially to the explosion in your speech.  So many new words, many of them quite hilarious (to me, anyway).

To back up, we traveled to your paternal grandparents’ home in Alabama for Thanskgiving last month.  This was your second trip down there, but this time we drove during the daytime instead of overnight. I was skeptical that you’d be able to handle that much time restrained in your car seat, as you are normally very busybusybusyalldaylong exploring and playing and being generally on the move, but you actually did great.  We only stopped a few times each way, and you were fairly content to babble to your stuffed buddies or snooze or whatever you were doing back there for such long stretches of time.  I was amazed (and grateful).  Your grandparents of course had a ball playing with you and letting you show off all your new words and skills.

Christmas was, well, everything a toddler could want, I think.  You love the trees, pointing them out to me each morning anew and waiting for them to be lit up.  Only a couple of ornaments have been obliterated, one of which appeared to have been gifted to the dog (I’m sure he thanks you).  We didn’t go see Santa this year.  I couldn’t bear the idea of paying money to subject you to an almost certainly upsetting stranger-hairy-dude’s-lap situation for a photo op.  You are fairly adept at opening presents, though, so perhaps next year you’ll be game.  I don’t plan to push it; we’ll just have to see what you think at the time.  Your favorite gifts have probably been the various basketballs, baseballs, footballs, etc.  Every time you come across one (we really need to sort through and weed out our toy collection!) you exclaim BAW!! as if it’s the first time you every saw it.  If it’s a basketball you pick it up and request a lift to the ‘hoop,’ which we try to oblige whenever possible.

I had been trying to keep a list of particularly amusing words as you started using them, but I’m sure this will be woefully incomplete, as your language has taken off at lightning speed.  Most start off as a bit of a puzzle, of course, until I hear them a few times at least in the right context, at which point I usually catch on.  Like BECK-OHH.  That one stumped me for a bit; at first I thought you’d picked a favorite piece of heavy equipment from one of your books at my parents’ house, but then you said it as we were getting ready to drive home, and it dawned on me:  ohhhh, BUCKLE, not backhoe.  Yes, we have to buckle up! Before we can drive HOOOMMME.  You always say, ‘Home, Mama.’ Yes, drive home with Mama.  So it goes like that.  You say something a couple of times, I scratch my head and ask what that means, I eventually get it, and then we add to the conversations we’re now able to have. I love both being able to understand you and how you relish being understood.

The Sesame Street obsession is in full swing.  Your favorites seem to be Bert and Ernie, plus Elmo and now Murray.  At the end of every episode when he reviews the letter and number of the day, you are usually jumping the gun to beat him to saying PEACE!  We are working on the accompanying hand gesture, but I admit that I find it a little too charming for your own good.  Too often I let it convince me to allow one more episode, especially since you now can ask so politely, tacking ‘please’ (peathe) on to your request for ‘more’ (mow).  Huzzah, we have rudimentary manners!  Including ‘thank you,’ though it sounds like little more than ‘tee too’ at this point.  Context means a lot right now, certainly.  I even got a ‘sorry’ (sowwy) after you chucked your Bert and Ernie figures at the floor instead of putting them back on the coffee table as requested.  You gave Bert a smooch and apologized to him.  I died.  Anyway, yes, Sesame Street is your thing right now, and I admit to loving it, too.  You get super excited for Abby Cadabby (Abby-da), Oscar (Otter), Big Bird (Bird), and Mr. Noodle (Doo).  I get super excited to see you so excited.  And so chatty.

Let’s see…what else do you like to talk about these days?  You’re quite good at identifying many body parts (eyes, ears, nose, mouth, cheeks, chin, head, hair, knee, feet/tootsies, toes/piggies), my favorite of which right now has to be elbow (EHW-BOWWW).  I’m not even sure where you picked that one up, other than perhaps me lamenting that you have peanut butter or applesauce or yogurt or some unholy mixture of two or more all over them after a high chair session.  In addition you enjoy identifying the dogs’ tails and paws. Also…animal noises!  You know the doggie (BOW WOW WOW), kitty cat (meeowww), sheep and goat (baaa), horse (neeeiiighh), donkey (eee-awww), cow (merrrr/mooo), etc., etc., etc.  It blows my mind daily how much you now know and can communicate.  Even a few non-concrete concepts, like empty (eee-pee-tee) are popping up.  I may be easily impressed at this point, but I am impressed nonetheless. Some of it is so silly, like how you call milk ‘moo juice’ (thanks to Grandma for that one).  When I say that it’s cold outside, you say ‘brrrrr,’ and you know that if we go outside you have to wear a hoodie (perfect prononciation on that one – hoo-dee – ridiculously cute).  I would swear that today you were telling me I was boring (burring?), but hopefully that will turn out to have a better translation soon! Maybe even tomorrow (mowwow), in the morning (mooorning), when you wake up ‘HAPPY!’

Food continues to be fun.  You name almost everything you eat anymore, and haven’t gotten too picky yet.  Weirdly I can hear a difference between the word berry when you use it for blueberries (buwwy) and strawberries (bawwy), which reminds me – you can pretty much recite The Very Hungry Caterpillar:  all the fruits, most of the Saturday foods, including pickle as of today, and you seemingly randomly interject POP! (out of the egg came a tiny and very hungry caterpillar) on most pages.  Where was I?  Oh yes, food.  Thanksgiving proved you love turkey, though strangely you do NOT like mashed potatoes.  No tragedy; perhaps you just need to learn more about gravy first.  You like all kinds of pasta (pat-a, or as Grandma calls them, ‘ronis), every fruit we’ve tried (we should plant an apple tree, you run to the fridge screaming for apples at least five times a day), and more vegetables than I’d hoped, including sweet bell peppers of late.  When a blob of applesauce hits the high chair tray rather than your mouth, we say SPLAT (bat) and you giggle because what’s more fun than making a mess?  Maybe only feeding the dog (ugh, we are working on that).  When you’re done you rip off your bib (beeb).  Well, if I’m lucky you wait until you’re done, toss your leftovers to the dog, and start chanting NONONONONOOOO, DOGGIE.  Mixed messages, much.

You’ve started recognizing some letters, some colors (orange, in particular), and several shapes, which we practice while we crayon scribble.  It’s surely only exactly age appropriate, but it still freaks me out a little.  You are getting so big, so fast, something I ask you to explain every time I pick you up (how did you GET so big??).  Before long you’re going to be reading to me instead of the other way around. You started saying your own name in the past couple of weeks (EYE-DAC/EYYYDE), along with all the other things I meant to remember. You LOVE taking a bath, and demand bubbles every time you see running water.  Brushing your teeth is still a struggle, but your Uncle Jim built you a learning tower for Christmas, which has helped a lot already – we still have to finish and paint it but are already using it in the bathroom in the meantime, and you love it, and ask for LEARNING! every time you pass the bathroom.  Sometimes you just chant Mommy, mommy, mommy, and I can’t help but tell you yet again, Yes, I am your mommy.  I LOVE being your mommy.