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16 Months Tomorrow

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.


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