You turned 23-months-old this past week. My love for you continues to grow each and every day. On the other hand, your love for your mom and me seems to be regularly distracted by your newfound item of comfort. I’d somewhat expected this of you at some point in your life. Your mom and I both had our security blankets when we were toddlers. This month you found the comfort of a baby blue microfiber washcloth. It’s pretty cute because you hold the washcloth in your right hand, pressed against your cheek while you suck the fingers on your left hand. What’s cute, but equally strange, is that you insist that your rag be wet. And you let us know as much. “Wet. Wet. Wet. WETTTTT!!!!” So either your mom or I have to run the rag through the sink and ring it out so it’s wet enough to satiate you, yet not too wet as to leave a trail or water along your trail throughout the house.
From about the time your started saying words, you quickly realized that asking, “this?” would warrant a response and explanation to whatever “this” was that you were pointing to. You still say “this” whenever you want something that’s beyond your reach and you don’t know the name of said this, or you want to know the name of “this”. This month you caught on to saying, “who’s that?” I’m pretty sure you got that from your mom and me because of the countless photos we’ve shown you in the past 23 months and asked you, “Maly, who’s that?” Now, whenever you see a photo of a person (or an inanimate object) that you’re not sure of, you ask, “who’s that?”
It’s seems as if you’ve reached a pivotal point in your young life where you’re really branching out. Your synapses have converged and you’re now taking everything in a way that I like to think of not much unlike a scary sponge. An interesting thing that you have brought to our attention is that Mom and I growl. A lot. Whenever we get frustrated with anything in general, we both have a tendency to let out a guttural moan. A couple of weeks ago I was feeding you soup for lunch. As usual, you quickly ate started playing with you food. We taught you from an early age that food is to stay on the table, and for the most part, you’re an abiding child. On this particular day I think you got a little too excited and your spoon sent your bowl and remainder of your soup onto the floor, the chair and the wall. Had it been anything other than soup, I probably just would have kept my normal, laid-back composure, reminded you to keep your food on the table and cleaned the mess. Instead, while attempting to mask my frustration, I growled under my breath and used the Big Daddy of all expletives…
And then I heard, in what I still consider your soft and angelic voice, you repeat me verbatim: Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. F**K!!”
Now, more than ever, Mom and I have to be ever cognizant of your sponginess. I look at it as a challenge and am happy and anxious to teach you the good in life and you continue to grow and become more and more inquisitive.
Your imagination is really starting to shine through now as well. We’ve always known you have a vivid imagination, but now it’s starting to materialize. Enter Simmy. Every once in a while during the past month, we’d hear you say, “No no, Simmy!” I can totally understand the “no no” part as it’s in your mom’s and my daily vocabulary, but who or what is Simmy? We know of no word that resembles “Simmy”. This past week I decided that you have an imaginary friend named Simmy. I could be completely wrong, but I like to think your creative side is starting to shine.
You’re such a sweet little angel. It’s scary how fast you’re growing up but exciting in the same breath. As you grow, you interact with us and the world around you more and more. You’re becoming independent and that frightens me. But as I watch you become more independent, I can also see how you need me more and more, but in a different way. A way where you need a little more guidance, and a little less security. Regardless of how much security and guidance you need, I’ll always be here to give you all that I have and then some.
I love you, Sugar.