Month Seventeen

Dear Henry,

Today we walked up to the grocery store to get some onions for dinner. You waved hello to every bicyclist we passed on the path by the house. You climbed steps. You stomped through puddles. And you held my hand when cracks in the sidewalk were too large to traverse without some assistance. You crawled. You sat. You pet Beauty the wonder dog. It took us nearly one and a half hours to get there and back. For two onions. The trip would normally take us forty minutes. Such is life with a full blown toddler.

You run. A lot. It shouldn't be a surprise given your penchant for speedy crawling but it is shocking how quick you already are. Is this indicative of future track star greatness? Perhaps. As much as I like to see your little independent steps take you away, it is the most awesome thing in the world to watch you run back to us. Particularly when you are running to give and receive hugs. Hugging is very big with you right now. I'll take as many as I can get because I know it won't be long before you're asking me to drop you off a block away from school to avoid any potentially embarrassing parental embrace in front of your friends. Parents are so lame.

Your communication skills continue to improve, like now you can tell us when you need a diaper change. It's not as if the smell doesn't clue us in to this fact. It does quite effectively. But you can tell us this from across the room before the smell wafts in our direction. The quicker we can get the poo off you, the better. And help is not something you're afraid to ask for, which is great. If we start this help thing off right, we might be able to prevent you from falling into the 'never ask for directions' trap that seems to ensnare so many young men these days. 

The greatest upset in the past few weeks is that you are having issues getting to sleep at night. As in you don't want to go to sleep. Ever. And, really, you don't seem that upset by this development but your pops and I are losing our minds, son. You see, we need the few short hours allotted to us in the evening to recharge so we can keep up with you the next day. Without some time to ourselves we are cranky, bean. And no one likes a cranky parent, particularly not a cute and cuddly toddler named Henry Finn. 

In the past month you've taken to chasing Ellie and Mabel around the house. We interpret their lying down and playful batting at you as a sign that they are okay with the torture that you inflict upon them. If they weren't, they could just climb higher than you or scoot further under the furniture until they were out of harm's reach. You have also been sitting on the dog. I think this is your payback for every time she has accidentally knocked you down on her way out the front door. Wait, have I mentioned the climbing? We need to get you to the rock gym, kid, because you LOVE to climb. Last week, I turned around from washing my hands after a diaper change to find you had climbed back up on the changing station. You were perched there hanging out looking at me like, "What? Dude, I can totally climb this thang." For as toddle-y as you can sometimes be, you have balance that belies your parentage.

In a word, bean, you are awesome. Happy seventeen months.

Love, 

Mom