20 Month Update

Dear Lana,

Yesterday you turned 20 months old. Do you remember a couple of months ago when I wrote that you almost never said "Mommy" in my presence? Oh my, how quickly things change around here. For most of the past month, you maintained a running dialogue of things your dear Mama should do: "Mommy, come. Mommy, sit. Mommy, taste. Mommy, sing," and so on. My favorite of all is "Mommy, reeeeach!" which you say when I come into the vicinity of something you want but can't have at the moment, like the bottle of Sprite ("SPITE!") on the top shelf of the refrigerator. I love the way you say it with such urgency and hopefulness, as if the only reason you aren't drinking Sprite with breakfast is because your poor Mommy can't reach the bottle.

At this point I've completely lost track of the number of words and sentences you can say. You love to mimic new words and will very reliably chant the last word in a sentence overheard in a conversation or on television. That's proved problematic on a couple of occasions, when Mommy or Daddy's last word was something that's generally frowned upon in the Bible Belt. Luckily, your memory for those words is remarkably short – either that or you are saving them up for the first day of school at the Christian academy you will begin attending part-time this summer.

In other language news, you decided a couple of weeks ago that it was finally time to call Rico by his name and not the generic title, "Doggie." I began to worry when you learned the names of all the other dogs in the family, but still you refused to recognize Rico by his name. I think the turning point came on the playground when the neighborhood children converged on Rico, shouting his name and extending dirty little hands to pet him. Miraculously, no digits were lost (way to go, Rico!) and you joined in shouting his name, all the while beaming with pride to be the owner of such a popular canine.

Truly, I have no doubts that you consider yourself to be in charge of poor Rico, given the pleasure you take in ordering him around pointing out his mistakes. You absolutely love to come in and point out the locations of "messes" made by Rico while we are out – most often they involve the destruction/consumption of some snack left on a table or in a diaper bag. Those messes are your favorite topic of conversation when you meet someone new: "Doggie, mess. Trouble." One day we were standing out in the back yard and Rico began rolling in the grass. This is a habit we try to discourage, but on this particular occasion I was distracted and didn't notice until you dropped the ball you were playing with, ran over to Rico and began yelling, "NO! Dirty!" You then proceeded to chase him around the yard, brushing grass off his back until you were satisfied with his cleanliness. I can tell that Rico is annoyed to have a tiny human bossing him around, but he generally handles it with grace and is handsomely rewarded when grilled cheese sandwiches rain down on him from your highchair.

The lovely weather allowed us to spend even more time outside last month, which pleased you to no end. You could hardly stand to spend an entire hour inside because that was one whole hour that you were not strolling, playing ball, sliding, or throwing rocks in the lake. This is exactly what I pictured when I was pregnant with you – your father and me catching you as you slide, teaching you how to kick a ball, chasing you as you enjoy the simple pleasure of running as fast as your little legs will allow. As an adult, it's easy to forget how fun those things can be. Thank you so much for letting us relive all those experiences through you.

Love,
Mommy


(Photo at top courtesy of Amy Jackson Photography. And, no, we did not ask her to pose like a ballerina. That was one lovely, lucky moment out of five minutes of whining, crying, and poopy pants. Amy's a pro for capturing it.)