Month Twenty-one

Dear Henry,

Please understand that since you came into this world there have been countless days that have come and gone without me having any understanding of the actual date attached to them. Calendars mean very little to your stay-at-home mom because every day is spent doing little more than taking care of your every desire. This is why I find myself writing the newsletter in the evening as the clock tick tocks down to midnight. Thanks, by the way, for getting to bed at a reasonable hour this evening. If you hadn't, I wouldn't be writing. And then I'd be that mom. The one who is officially late recognizing, nay celebrating, her son's twenty-first month day. Bean, that is not the inscription I want on the old tombstone, although your dad did show me a funny one earlier this evening. It read, "I told you I was sick." Feel free to use that on me when the day comes, but don't worry 'bout that now because I plan on staying around for a long, long time. Possibly long enough to see my great-grandkids. I'm not over here racking up this child rearing wisdom for myself.You have been busy. Growing, running, dancing, jumping, running, running, laughing, talking, singing, running, and, oh yeah, did I mention running? We are taking full advantage of the summer weather and all of the parks in the Portland metro area. This has me a bit concerned about winter, though. What are we going to do to help you expend that energy when we can't set you free at the park to run and run and run? I suppose that is something for the daycare folks to worry about, eh? Which brings us to another unpleasant thought. We have just one more month before I return to school. As frustrated as I can sometimes get after spending so much time with you, my heart still aches just a little to know that next month I'm going to be spending the majority of the day away from you. I can only hope that doing so will make me a better mom, and that this sacrifice will pay off later, conveniently after your long-term memory kicks in. It's best you forget what will surely initially feel like abandonment.The biggest change this past month, of course, was the transition from crib to toddler bed. What I read after-the-fact is that stuff like letting your little one (that'd be you, bean) pick out the bedding and placing the bed in the same place as the crib (in hindsight this seems very smart) lessens the trauma of the change. In fairness, I did read the latter in time for your pops and me to change the location of the bed before nighttime. First of all, thanks for being smart enough to figure out you could get out of the bed. I had heard some kids would stay in the bed merely because they didn't realize they could leave it. Not you. Your curiousity is going to drive you to discover, and that is awesome. You were involved with the project the second we all gathered in your room with the dismantled bed in pieces on the floor. I'm not sure you even noticed the disappearance of the crib. Once assembled, you fearlessly jumped on, lying your head on the mattress and semi-curling up like you do when you sleep. So we covered you up with a blanket and took pictures. It isn't often you're still long enough for us to capture you without some body part in motion, and hence blurry. And later, when we put you to bed, we were just settling down on the couch in the living room and your father was in the process of predicting you'd last five minutes when you came bolting around the corner to join us. What a sense of freedom you must have felt. What other choice did we have, son? We took you back and tucked you in, repeating this process for hours before a lightbulb went off and I remembered we had a baby gate, and that baby gates, by their very nature, are designed for exactly this type of situation when you want to keep a baby from getting from one place (e.g., your room) to another (e.g., anywhere other than your room). Problem solved.It's strange because as you become more independent, you also have bouts of clinginess. Whenever we are in a new space or there are a lot of people around, you want to be held until such time as you feel comfortable. Only then will you allow yourself to be lowered to the ground. Once your feet hit the ground, it's usually a few more minutes before you loosen your grip on my pants and strike out. Juxtapose this part of your personality with your Walmart-greeter self, who has a wave and a 'hi' for every stranger in the mall or at the store regardless of where I am. I'm curious to see how you'd make out in Manhattan where I hear folks are very 'don't make eye contact and for God's sake don't say anything' to other people they pass on the street. Would they acknowledge you as the cute toddler you are or just ignore you? We've got spare time if you're up for a little experiment in walking the streets of New York. (It should be noted this is not the same as being a street walker in New York. Ask me later for a more thorough explanation.)Sadly, we had to say goodbye to Miss E.B., the first person you met in the entire world, other than hospital staff and your parents. Erin Beatrix moved with her parents to California so her mom could do wondrous things for cancer research. Given that you don't have long-term memory, I'm guessing you won't remember much of this but I'm determined to keep you two in touch. If you're the adorable sensitive nerdy kid I expect you'll one day be, it'd be handy to have a gorgeously brilliant red-headed out-of-state friend we can call upon when you need a prom date.Today, you sang your first song. ("Lady of Spain" from the Amazing Marvin Suggs and his Muppaphone on The Muppet Show: Music, Mayhem, and More 25th Anniversary Collection cd.) It was the most unexpected and cute thing I encountered during the last 30 days. You really enjoyed yourself, which is fantastic because when you aren't enjoying yourself you let me know it by fussing, and fussing toddlers cause mothers to become unpleasant. Don't want an unresponsive and pissy mother, stop being a fuss 'n boots. Consider this your take-home tip for the month.
No matter what your pops or I go on to do or become, you will forever be our greatest achievement. We love you, bean.

Love,
Mom