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Monthly Archives: March 2013

Dear Corwin,

We got you a little tricycle. We called it your first bike, but it has three wheels, so nope, not really. It’s insanely cute though how you sit up straight and look around when I’m pushing you around in it, like you’re proud to be one of the big kids now. I know you’ve been wanting your own ride for a couple of months already, and I heard you were borrowing a neighboring kid’s tricycle when she wasn’t using it. Your father and your aunt showed me pictures that they took on separate occasions, of you looking at them and pointing at the borrowed tricycle you were riding in with a face sweetly, earnestly trying to communicate, ‘Look! I want one of these please.’

You say “Please” now, only you say it as “peas”. You also speak in much, much longer paragraphs, with matching intonation and facial expressions. We are convinced you think you’re already having conversations with us, and while you do speak so many words now, you’re not really making much sense yet. Cue endless toddler frustration. I have to try really hard not to laugh. It’s so funny when you furrow your brow in disapproval. You look so much like me.

You’re a cheeky baby, and you make me laugh. You light me up so much, I can feel it spread through me even just from hearing your voice calling me from the next room. I just want to kiss and smell you all the time, and watch you do silly things like hide behind your little chair. You still think that if you can’t see me, I can’t see you. You shriek and giggle with glee when I “find” you.

I love afternoons with you. You grab my phone, say “Dance” and wait for me to play some music. Then you dance your insanely funny dance moves, and I dance along with you, and for the next few minutes, all I hear and feel is our laughter, and an immense, overwhelming love for you, your father, and this little life that we have made for ourselves. It surrounds me, and I am filled with deep and boundless gratitude.

Love,
Mommy

Dear Corwin,

You turn 16 months tomorrow. 1 year and 4 months old. There are so many new things you do each day, I don’t know where to begin. I’ve lost count of how many words you speak already. I think we’re past 3 dozen now. You can grip a ball with one hand and hold it over your head. You can throw a ball overhand and overhead, and kick it around like a football champ. One of your favorite things to do is run around in bookstores. You say “Books!” excitedly then proceed to grab books from shelves, run to the opposite end of the room and place them there. You seem to do this in some order that makes sense to you. You could do this for hours if we let you.

Your father and I had to be away for work for three days last weekend. This was our first time to be away from you for this long, and I was beside myself with worry. I was agitated during the trip out, and I missed you terribly. I called home as soon as we were checked into our room and I found myself crying while I was waiting for the call to connect. I hate being away from you. You, on the other hand, my dear sweet independent boy, seemed to manage just fine without us. We spoke on FaceTime three times, and in none of those conversations and our other phone calls did you seem like you were in great distress that we were away. That made me relax a bit and enjoy my time away with your father. We didn’t have time to swim, but we got to take beautiful pictures together and had lovely dinners by the beach, and I remembered exactly how much I love traveling with him. He makes everything better.

We printed out pictures of the three of us so they could give you one every few hours while we were away. You would grab it, say “Mama” in a high-pitched voice, and “Daddy” in your normal voice, and dance or walk while waving it around. You funny little thing. You make everything better, too.

I woke up at 1am to find you and your father at the dining table sharing a cup of banana yogurt and a Yan-Yan stick. Oh, my heart. You both looked at me sleepily, and as if to explain yourselves, you signed “Eat” to me. I sat next to you and you smiled at me. Moments like this are what I live for — the seemingly inconsequential, little everyday things. These are the things that matter to me. These are the things I remember.

Love,
Mommy