Dearest Maia,

Two years ago you arrived in this world, not even ten feet away from where I’m sitting right now.  Isn’t that strange?  This same place where we have dance parties, where we chow down on dinner, where you laugh and laugh and chase the dogs around… this is where you were born.

We’ve come pretty far since then.

We love you so fucking much, and your laughter is the most beautiful sound in the world.

All our love,
Mama & Dada

Dearest Maia,

Today you turn twenty two months old.  It’s kinda crazy.  I know that I said in your month eighteen letter that I was going to stop referring to your age in that way, but, well, as you approach TWO YEARS OLD I cling more and more stubbornly to those months.  In fact, I even thought to myself “She is twenty one and a half months old” which is, okay, maybe a little excessively clingy or obsessive or whatever.

You are awesome.  I could say that a thousand times and still want to say it more.  You genuinely make every day a joy, even when you display your incredible stubborn streak.  Actually, you know, let’s talk about your stubbornness, at least in a roundabout way.  I told myself I would not blog about potty training, or poop, so I’m not going to go into details, but let me say this: JESUS H CHRIST MAIA, IT’S JUST POOP, EVERYONE DOES IT, IT’S OKAY.

Now that that’s out (or not) (haha, so funny): everything else is great!  You’re still not talking a whole heck of a lot, or at least, you’re not forming many words, but you are very communicative and it’s rare that the three of us don’t understand one another.  Oh, sure, sometimes you like to pretend that you don’t know what we’re saying to you, but we’re not stupid.  You lost that advantage many, many months ago, and we know that you comprehend the vast majority of what comes out of our mouths.

Related?  When you’re awake, the swearing in this household has practically disappeared and I’ve also stopped listening to so much Kanye West.  Because as much as I don’t believe in promoting censorship as a way of life, I also don’t want my daughter to think that using seven curse words in thirty-seven seconds is an effective way to communicate with people.  Generally speaking, it’s not.

So!  Let’s talk about what you like:

Killing zombies.  You see the above?  That’s a screenshot from a game called “Plants vs Zombies” and YOU REALLY LIKE PLAYING THIS.  Myself or Daddy will just be sitting around and next thing we know, you’re pointing at my computer demanding “zee zee” and then we don’t have a choice, we MUST load up PvZ and kill zombies with you.  It is guaranteed to make you happy and you’re very good at warning us with a zombie appears on the right side of the screen with the intent to eat our plants. Your favourite is when the corn cob plant shoots butter onto the zombies’ heads and pauses them in place; this always gets an excited squawk out of you.

Mommy’s makeup.  Oh, my love.  It’s not like I give you my foundation, but you somehow manage to finagle the cap off the counter when I’m not looking, then suddenly you’re smearing what you can dredge from it all across your face and nose and sometimes in your hair or eyes and it’s just hilarious.  I DO let you powder your nose if you like, and you are particularly fond of applying chapstick to your entire face or to the chihuahuas.

You also like having your toenails painted.

Bacon. Holy ffffff do you love bacon.  I honestly have to break a slice into several pieces and slowly let you at them, or else you shove the entire thing down your throat in like thirty seconds and then try to steal mine off my plate. You also know how to say bacon — “bay-guh!” although you’ll only use this when you’re begging for another bite.  It’s kind of hilarious and kind of sad, because when I ask you to say “Bacon please” you get PISSED.  Asking you to say “please” is basically a sure-fire way of getting you to throw a mind-blowing temper tantrum. (PS: You’re still gonna have to learn to say it.)

Oh, and you also really like your gummy bear vitamins.  And salad.  And clementines.  You do not, however, like onions and will angrily throw them on the ground (ughhhhhh) if you find them in your food.  This is sad, because your father and I really enjoy onions and we put them in basically everything.  You’ll definitely eat them, just not if you see them and realize they’re there.

We spend a lot of time in the kitchen together. Our dining room table is bar height, and we pull a chair from it into the kitchen for you to sit in while I prepare food.  You like to stir stuff for me, although you REALLY like it if I hold your hand and help you to stir really really fast!  You know when things are “hot” and you will blow on them to cool them down (although in reality this means that you take a deeeeeeeep breath and then blow it out & up, into your own nose).

You still love trucks.  We live on a road that trucks almost never go down (thank goodness) but when we’re out driving with you, you spot trucks that we haven’t even noticed yet.  Way down the street in a parking lot with just the cab visible alongside a store? HOLY SHIT MOM AND DAD LOOK IT’S A TRUUUUUCK.  Not that you’ll say truck, of course, but we’re quite familiar by now with your excited truck noise.

You’re still a huuuuuge fan of music.  Listening, singing, dancing — it doesn’t matter, you love music in your life.  And of course we listen to a broad variety of stuff, so hopefully you’ll grow up with an appreciation for how music comes in many different rhythms and genres and nothing deserves to be dismissed entirely out of hand without at least giving it a chance or two first.

You’re a really affectionate baby.  You love to snuggle.  Sometimes you get into these moods where you just run back and forth between your daddy and me, kissing and hugging us, or rubbing our arms and legs.  Most mornings, the three of us spend a few minutes in the big bed just cuddling.  When we’re all snugglingm we say “mmmmm” together — and it’s a beautiful sound.

Hopefully you keep loving to snuggle, because we’re not gonna stop wanting you to.

We love you, papaya.

Love,
Mama & Dada

Dear Maia,

“Mama”, “Dada”, “Hi”, “Bye”, “Yay” and “Yeah” — this is your vocabulary right now.  You are comfortable waiting right on the cusp of speaking, even though I am practically falling over myself trying to get you to say more words… you will look right at me, shut your mouth, and wait for me to be quiet before you launch into a very expressive babble full of sounds but no words I recognize.  I’m impatient, Maia. I want to hear all the thoughts that go through your head.

Of course, everyone says that once you do start talking, I’ll be begging you to stop.  So.  There’s that.

Daddy has taken to calling you “monkey” recently, and he has a good reason to.  Ever since you’ve been able to move, you’ve liked to pull up onto things (and this is why you were standing at, what, five? five and a half? months old?), and that love has only grown as time passes.  I’m pretty sure I’ve covered it before, but you are just ALL OVER ANYTHING that you can possibly climb.  You love when we hold your hands and you ‘walk’ up our legs and torsos.  Sometimes you’ll put your butt on my chest and just sit there, perpendicular to me, laughing and laughing… other times you’ll throw yourself backwards (yes, really) into a terrifying flip.  You don’t mess around, Maia.

You’re still my little dancing machine, and your dances have grown more complex — for example, you’ve recently learned to jump.  So you’ll do your stompy feet, spin in a super fast circle,  jump, then wave your arms around like you’re Donkey Kong or something.  Your favourite songs are “Sweet Caroline” (the ‘ba ba ba ba’ song), “Fuck You” (whatever, censorship sucks), and “Like a G6″ (or as we sing, “Like a Cheesestick”).  You are just amazing, papaya.  You have so much energy and you take so much joy in the world, it’s contagious; I dance and sing and laugh along with you, lost in the beauty you fill our household with.  You like to ‘jump’ on the couch or in your crib, and by that I mean you bend your knees, leap up in the air, and throw your legs out so you land on your butt, then laugh and laugh.

Sometimes you do stuff that makes us laugh.  Like, you know, being absolutely horrified at your Daddy cutting open a pumpkin.

You love pumpkins, Maia.

They were kind of the only thing that made Halloween bearable for you at first, until you realized that Halloween also involved: 1) knocking on doors and 2) people letting you grab handfuls of stuff out of a bowl to put in your basket.  SCORE!  BEST HOLIDAY EVER!

Seriously, we had to run to keep up with you.

You’re growing up so fast, girlie.  You are still fiercely independent (I feel like I’ve used that exact phrase in every letter I’ve ever written to you); you want to feed yourself, dress yourself, clean up after yourself, and do things on your terms.  We’ve had a few, uh… battles of wills… over the fact that you are so damned STUBBORN.  ”Maia, put your pizza back on your plate” is a phrase that fills you with absolute, uncompromising fury, because if you wanted your pizza on your plate?  IT WOULD BE THERE, MOM, HOLY CRAP, WHY ARE YOU SO STUPID MOM, AND WHY ARE YOU SUPPORTING THIS IDIOCY DADDY?  Yes.  You speak in caps locks. It’s a little intimidating and sometimes I look at you and all I can think is where did this KID come from?

But do you wanna know something, Maia?

You’re still actually kind of small.

And secretly, deep down inside?  Behind all the independence…

… you still need me as much as I need you.

We love you so much, Maia.  Don’t ever stop needing us.

Love,
Mama & Dada