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

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

“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

Today you turn nineteen months old and we have been SO BUSY together.   We started the month off with a photo shoot using Mommy’s new camera.

You’ve been so snuggly.  It’s awesome.  You wake up with daddy every morning when he works, and he brings you into the bedroom to wake me up.  You pass books to me, then you snuggle under the blankets and wait for me to read, all while babbling wildly.  I am NOT a morning person, Maia, but I’m pretty sure you are.

Your grandma visited — briefly, only for a day — this month.  So you snuggled her, too.

You love to read and be read to.  You also have decided that you might not totally hate water on your feet and sand between your toes at a beach, which is a pretty big deal.  You still can’t stand having dirty hands though, and when something — mud, fur, grass, yogurt — gets on them, you simply hold your palms out to me and wait (im)patiently for me to remedy this problem.

We have discovered that you LOVE trucks.  This happened because we drove your daddy into work one day, and he works at a trucking company so the yard was full of big 18 wheelers.  You stood at the windows, pointing and screaming with delight at all of them.

You are a pro at eating edamame out of the shell, and it’s still your favourite food.  You are huge on anything that would normally be a condiment — honey, French dressing, ketchup — and will gladly eat it by itself.  You like to suck the seeds out of tomatoes and then discard the rest (we call you the tomato vampire). You still try to get into my coffee every single morning, and whenever we’re out together and mommy gets a coffee?  I have to get something for you, too, to distract you so you don’t try to STEAL mine from me.

(and just for clarity’s sake? no, she didn’t drink all of that, we shared it.)

You are either an ABSOLUTE TERROR to take out in public or the most wonderful, sweet child I could ask for.  It’s so frustrating.  You are very independent and therefore you don’t want to sit in a high chair or a booster seat, you want to sit like mommy and daddy — but you’re too small to reach the table so therefore you stand on the bench or chair and this stresses me out because you almost ALWAYS end up falling at one point or another and then next thing you know I have whatever food was on your hands all over my clothing because, of course, you catch yourself on me when I catch you.

For example, when we went to Ribfest.

You see that jacket?  It is one you insisted on us purchasing for you at the Ex.  And then you decided that you didn’t want it to be zipped.  And then you decided you didn’t want to wear a bib.  And then you decided you didn’t want the sleeves rolled up.  You are also standing in a chair and leaning against the table, because this was what you wanted.

Now, I know I should probably be more of a disciplinarian.  But let me explain to you what Ribfest was like: COLD AND WINDY AND RAINY AND WET and I was not going to deal with a screaming, tantruming child throwing herself into the cold grass and wet mud.  So, screw it.  You got your way.  And I still haven’t washed the barbeque sauce off those cuffs.

But it doesn’t matter in the long run.  All that matters is your happiness.

The world is your oyster, baby girl.  We love you.

Love,
Mama & Dada

When someone asks me your age, I’m not sure I’ll answer in months anymore.  You are now one and a half years old.  Seriously.  SERIOUSLY.  It feels like you were never an infant, helpless and still and so endlessly needy; I don’t remember those days as anything other than a haze, as if I dreamed them and they never actually happened.  It makes me miserable to think that these days might end up that way too.  So I try to document everything.

I document you dancing to “Sweet Caroline”.

I document you eating toast in your daddy’s computer chair like a big girl.

I document you being a ninja…

… and sleeping in the car with your big, pouty lips.

You’re so helpful around the house.  Everything we do, you also want to be a part of, whether it’s sweeping the floor (when we give you a little dustpan & brush of your own), cleaning in general (if you get a paper towel, you promptly begin swiping it over the nearest flat surface), or carrying out the garbage.  In fact, let’s talk about that garbage thing a little more.

You see, Maia, this is the month you’ve decided that temper tantrums are a Fabulous Way To Make a Point (your father and I are disinclined to agree with you on this).  You threw a tantrum for well over an hour one day because you wanted the door to the balcony closed when daddy wanted it open.  And then you threw one for forty five minutes because — get this — you couldn’t lift the bag of garbage.  Maia.  MY PAPAYA.  I always make two bags of garbage: one that’s full for me, one that’s a little less full and lighter for you, and we go stomping down the hallway together happily but no, not this day, THIS day, you wanted to carry both of those bags and damned if anything was gonna stop you.  Of course, then something did stop you and it was very, very dramatic, it was cats sleeping with dogs dramatic, and all I could do was try not to laugh at how ridiculous you were being.

Speaking of dogs!  You love ours.  You think they’re the neatest things in the world and you love to love them.  You’re “nice” to them, then you’ll go “Mmmmm,” the way you do when you want to be affectionate and lean down to hug them.  Sometimes you try to pick them up, but that doesn’t go over to well.  You’ll run around the house yelling “DAAH!  DAAH!” and smacking your stomach or thighs when you want to find them.  When you find them, Joss is “DAH!” and Buffy is “DAH-DEH!”  You seriously kill us with the cute.

Something else cute?  You like to do a stompy dance.  In fact, we could say you just like to stomp and that would be pretty accurate.  You’ve taken lately to doing this huge, wide-legged stomp that borders on a split, and tottering around the house that way until you fall on your butt.  You also love Ke$ha’s “Take It Off”, and well, when we combine those two things, we get this:

There’s so much to say about you, Maia.  But at the end of the day, when I think of you, I think of the most beautiful girl in the world, one with an inquisitive, almost intimidating sort of intelligence, who adores life and living and and everything about the world she inhabits.

Including chickens.

All our love,
Mama & Dada

I have a deep flaw that I hope you don’t inherit.  It’s something I struggle with daily — hourly — and I honestly work on it. I’m trying to get past it.  I don’t want to be like this.  I’m a serial procrastinator, almost to the point where I think I’m mentally incapable of NOT procrastinating.  And hence, why your fifteen month letter wasn’t written on time.  Then, once I procrastinate something past the point of being ridiculous, I decide I just won’t do it, because it would be stupid to do it late.  You see?  Like this.  It’s May 21st, over a week since your fifteen month birthday, and I’m finally writing this.  I almost didn’t write it; I almost decided I should just skip this month because hey, screw it, I’m already so late, what’s the point?  And I’m sorry.  Because you deserve better than this.

But this letter shouldn’t be about me.  It should be about you.

This month, I’ve begun to call you “my baby” out of sheer stubbornness, because you’re clearly a kid now.  You are independent, very capable of expressing your likes and dislikes, and you like to do things on your own schedule.  You’ve begun sleeping through the night most nights as well, which is amazing, although you’re still nursing (which is also, in its own way, amazing, although I won’t lie, I’m looking forward to having my boobs back to myself eventually).  You’ve become more verbal, making sounds like “yiyiyi” and “bwah” and sometimes even multi-syllable sounds, and although Mama & Dada are still the only words we really hear from you, you have said “girl” (while pointing at one in a book!) and “dog”.  Usually, though, you like to point at dogs and exclaim, “Ah!”

after you “helped’ us with potting plants

You love Yo Gabba Gabba.  Even the mention of that phrase makes you giggly and giddy.  When the television’s off, you’ll sometimes grab the remote and wave it around while pointing at the screen, babbling very seriously.  You want to watch your show.  If I turn the television on and it’s NOT your show, you babble even more seriously at me.  It’s pretty hilarious.  I just distract you by taking you outside!

Sometimes those jaunts outside end up at Starbucks, which is a place you dearly love.  The blended strawberry lemonade basically makes your day.  I can’t even carry it when we buy it, because YOU want to, and whatever, who am I to deny you the simple pleasure of holding a cool drink on a hot day?

We’ve been able to spend a nice amount of time outdoors, particularly in the last week or so.  You love to take the dogs’ leashes in hand and wander around the area, laughing and exploring your world.  The dogs were pretty bad at letting you handle them at first, but they’ve fortunately gotten to be a lot better about it and the three of you have a blast now.

When we’re inside together, though (as we have been a lot this month — the weather’s been unseasonably cold), you like to show off your climbing skills.  You get on top of the couch and prance back and forth along the top of it, although fortunately — for now at least — you listen when we tell you to sit down.  You use a laundry basket as a stepping stool to climb up into my computer chair, and if the chair isn’t facing so you can sit down in it, then you just grab the back of it and hang there until you let yourself go.  SERIOUSLY, MAIA.  You monkey.

On a less stressful note, however, you also like to play with your blocks, read books, and draw.

You’re the center of my world; you keep me grounded.  Your beautiful smile is the first thing I think of every morning when I hear you calling out for me from your room. I will never forget when we sat on the couch together, you in my lap, and dipped a chocolate chip-studded granola bar into peanut butter to share with one another, or how you spin yourself in circles until you get “ditzy” then laugh and laugh when you fall on your bum, or how you start to dance at the merest hint of a sing-song tone in my voice.  I will never forget when you climbed up onto the chair beside me on the balcony and we both read our own books, or the way your eyes grew huge and wet when you tasted the bit of Nutella I smeared on a cherry for you.  You are forever making some little sort of mischief, whether it’s opening the cereal cabinet and helping yourself to handfuls, chasing the dogs around with a plastic spoon in hand, or pulling out your hair clips.

I want you to know, Maia, that despite my procrastination on things like writing, I never procrastinate on you.  You are my number one priority.  Always.

We love you desperately,
Mama & Dada.

]]> http://averygoodyear.net/letters-to-maia/month-fifteen/feed/ 1 http://averygoodyear.net/letters-to-maia/month-fourteen/ http://averygoodyear.net/letters-to-maia/month-fourteen/#comments Wed, 14 Apr 2010 02:49:50 +0000 Tatiana http://averygoodyear.net/?p=2415 Dear Maia,

This has been a crazy busy month for all of us.  The weather’s begun to look and feel like spring, and we have been making the most of it.  I’m constantly struck by how different — and wonderful — this year is as opposed to last; last year at this time you couldn’t even roll over, and now you can practically outrun me.  It’s amazing.  You’re amazing.

You and Dada are pretty dear friends these days, even if you still come to me for comfort most of the time.  You two are forever hanging out together…

… while I snap pictures, wondering how I got so lucky as to have such amazing people in my life.

You know “yes” and “no”, nodding or shaking your head vigorously when appropriate, as well as “hi” and “bye”, although you basically HATE the second word because it generally means I’m heading off to work.  There are so many times this month where I’ve thought, we understand each other now! I’ve thought that you and I are on the same wavelength and that we communicate very effectively with one another.

But then you’ll freak out the way you’ve been doing lately, where all you do is scream and cry as if you’re being drawn and quartered, your fingers gripping my leg or arm or (this is the worst) my chest as you simply wail, and there is no placating the beast that has possessed you.  It’s a little bit annoying, Maia, I’m not gonna lie.  Sometimes when you get like that, your dad and I wonder if we can trade you in and get our happy baby back, thank you very much.  To be honest, I think you’re getting frustrated that you can’t communicate with us more; I think you have a lot to say that you don’t yet understand how to give voice to.  I can understand how that’d be infuriating.

The good news is, most of the time, you’re happy.  I know I’m supposedly biased, but I’m pretty sure that you have the best smile in the world.

One of the greatest things that happened this month was totally unintentional.  I sat at my computer, eating a sandwich and an apple; you ran over, took the apple off my plate, and next thing I know you were doing this:

I laugh every single time I see this picture.  You were so into that apple that it was just amazing, and when I tried to turn it so you wouldn’t bite into the core, you threw an absolute fit.  I wasn’t trying to steal it, I promise!  I just didn’t want you to eat seeds.  Lesson learned.  I now cut the core out before I give you the apple.

Your independent streak is, as you can tell, still going strong.  Mama’s great for comfort, but when we’re out and about, you want desperately to be one of the big kids.  Your entire face lights up when you see other children walking around, and I can’t count the number of times you’ve gone racing off after one.

You’ve learned how to give kisses, and you love it.  You kiss dada, me, the dogs, yourself in the mirror, yourself on the iPod, your stuffed animals… anything and everything that makes you happy, you can be caught kissing.  If I purse my lips and go “mmmmm”, you lean forward and press your mouth to mine, avoiding looking in my eyes as though you’re a shy baby, and give me kiss upon kiss.  It’s awesome.

I’m pretty sure you’re also going to give me gray hair and ulcers and strong leg muscles from chasing you all over the place as you grow up.  To this I say, bring it on. I’m ready to take on the world with you.

We love you, papaya.

Love,
Mama & Dada.

Well, it took over a year, which is actually better than I thought I might do, but I finally forgot to write your monthly letter and have it posted at 1:07am on the 13th for the first time.  I don’t even have a good reason for this; I’m just busy and distracted as usual, spending all day with you (or at work) and all evening with your daddy.  I’m certain this won’t be the last time I let you down (although it would be wonderful if it were), but it’s a disappointment to me nonetheless.

After realizing how few pictures I’d been taking, I resolved to take more this month.  And fortunately, there have been some gloriously beautiful days of late, where we’ve gone outside as a family and explored the world.  You want to know what you explored and promptly decided you hated?  MUD.

You see, you and I took the dogs out one afternoon when all the snow was melting.  You held onto Joss’ leash (because he is a good dog and will not try to yank you off your feet, like his sister), and when you dropped it, he loped away over the sodden ground towards the brush to do his doggie business.  You decided to follow him.

But the ground was uneven, and you stumbled after a few steps, your hands and knees pressing down into the mud.  Maia, I wish I’d been taking video, because the way you reacted to this was hilarious.  Your face contorted into a fierce scowl and you let out this screech of absolute disgust as you scrambled to stand up.   You promptly retreated onto the sidewalk and, so help me, I could NOT get you to walk out onto the grass again.  You would not chase Joss and you would not come hug me — you just stood there, angry, fingers splayed wide and muddy palms outstretched.  That was the end of that little outing.

There were plenty of other outings this month, though.

Most notably, one of your playgroups has started up again.  So far, you have really enjoyed it, and you’re definitely one of “the big girls” there, far ahead of your peers in terms of how steady you are on your feet.  You run, Maia.  And you’re so strong.  You’re not interested in playing with one little toy; you want to lift up the entire box of toys and walk around with them.  You don’t want to sit in my lap to do arts and crafts, you want to sit on the chair by yourself and mess with the Play-Doh at your own pace (and “your own pace” seems to be pinching off little pieces of it and setting them to either side in neat little piles).

You’re still nursing several times a day — I’d venture to say five or six — which is surprising, given how much you love to eat.  You will nurse when you wake up, then stuff yourself full of Cheerios and fruit and juice, and an hour later you’ll walk over to me and start tugging at my shirt, demanding to nurse again.  Sometimes I wonder if you’re trying to get more attention from me and don’t really want to eat.  I guess I still have a lot to learn.

You eat everything and anything. It’s awesome.  Usually for lunch, you’ll have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, but sometimes we’ll get adventurous and have grilled cheese.  Or we’ll have brunch, which is also one of your favourites; you love eggs, bacon, and toast.  I’ve found one thing you don’t really like so far, even though I called it an awesome name: “funfetti”, which is grated raw carrot mixed with shredded cheese.  You kind of poked at it, pushed it away, and that was that, you were finished with it, you wanted more strawberries and red grapes and Goldfish, thank you very much Mommy.

It’s amazing to watch you grow up, Squeaky (this is a new, very appropriate nickname).  You have always had such personality, but you outdo yourself every day.  I love you dearly, but moreso, I’m noticing how much your Daddy loves you.  When you two play together, it’s almost like I don’t even exist, because you are so wrapped up in one another, your big brown eyes shining, your smiling faces mirrors of each other.  But when you’re upset, you still want me, and sometimes this hurts him.  If you’re having trouble falling asleep and he comes to comfort you, you’ll wail and shriek and arch your back while protesting, “MA MA MA MA!” as he tries to rock you in his arms.  It’s frustrating to both of us, but I have to admit, there are few things as precious as when I take your sleepy weight into my arms and you wrap your legs around my torso and nuzzle your head into my shoulder.  You trust and love me so completely.

And you wanna know what?  The feeling’s mutual.

We love you,
Mama & Dada

Beautiful.

That is the word that comes to mind whenever I think of you.  And while it is so often a comment on your physical state — your shining, dark eyes, your long, narrow limbs, your perfect round belly — you embody beauty in every way.

Spiritually, you are radiant.  The unadulterated joy in you find in everything humbles us.  You are just as amazed by the little plastic tab from a bread bag as you are by a balloon.  And let me tell you, that’s a lot of amazement; today at the dollar store, we found some mylar balloons and you started squealing, reaching for them, and babbling, nearly tumbling from your Daddy’s arms.  When he gave them to you and set you down, you caressed the mylar and patted it, smiling in your wide-mouthed way, your deep dimple visible only when you peeked around the side of the balloon to make certain we still watched you.  Of course we did.  How could we take our eyes from you?

It’s so hard for me to write this, Maia, because I feel like words are insufficient.  I wish I could distill every bit of delight you bring to our lives and put it into this letter, but it’s like trying to catch a waterfall in a thimble — no matter how hard I try, I won’t succeed.  But I’ll try.

After I zipped up your pajamas tonight, I leaned down and kissed you full on the lips, then smooched your cheeks and neck and chin.  You laughed from deep in your belly in a blissfully helpless way, twisting to and fro as if trying to escape, but your little hands grabbed mine and held on tight.  “You’re going to have a wonderful birthday,” I told you over and over again between kisses, “we love you so much.”

I read your bedtime book, and before I even closed it you were leaning back, mouth open, head turned towards me, wanting to nurse to sleep as you always do.  And usually when you nurse to sleep, I read, but tonight I watched you instead.  I watched the perfect shape of your pink lips, the way the tip of your nose touches my skin, and as your eyes fluttered shut, I felt tears fill my own.  My vision blurred.  I want it to be 1:07am, February 13th, 2010, because I want to know that you have been here every second of a year, that there will never again be a moment in time untouched by you.

Maia, beauty can be found in happiness and sorrow, joy and bitterness, hope and despair.  You will explore all of these things in your life, and I know that you have the grace of spirit to learn from them — and your father and I will be at your back, waiting to support you when you need us.

We love you so much, papaya.  Thank you for showing us what it truly means to be beautiful.

Love,
Mama & Dada

Today you turn eleven months old, and all I can think is how young that seems.  When I think of you, I think of a kid; when I think of an eleven month old, I think of a baby.  But you’re not.  You walk, talk, interact; you have a distinct personality, you know what you like (and don’t like), you are fiercely independent, and above all, you are fun.  Babies?  They’re definitely not as fun.

You love to dance and clap.  I don’t really like to leave the television if I’m not watching something in particular, but it’s tempting to when I know that any music — fast, slow, awesome or stupid — is going to catch your attention and cause you to start shaking your groove thang.

This past month has been an exciting one for you, with Grandma visiting, going to see family, and your first Christmas, as well as other fun things like taking Buffy to the vet on Boxing Day (stupid dog) and going to see the Olympic torch pass through our town.  People keep asking me if you “get” Christmas, and if by that they mean do you understand the concept of celebrating Jesus’ birth or Santa Claus bringing presents then, no, you don’t “get” Christmas.  But if they’re really asking whether you had fun celebrating the holiday, then the answer is an emphatic yes.

You enjoyed the Christmas gatherings, and although you were not terribly interested in opening presents (a fact which blows my mind, because if we were to give you a newspaper, you’d spend the next half hour shredding it and squealing with glee), you sure did like them once they were out of the wrapping paper.

By far, your favourite presents were the blocks.  Babcia and Grandma both got you blocks, which is great because you now have enough that, no matter where you go in the house, there will always be a block hiding out somewhere nearby.  Mommy and Daddy are marginally less thrilled at this fact than you are.

You also love your books (not so much the puppet in the background, obviously).  You were given something like four or five books for Christmas, and you like to bring them to me one at a time to read.  The one you’re holding in this picture, How Do I Love You?(aff) made me cry the first time I read it to you, because it’s so damned sweet.

I have to say, though, that your favourite part of this month was going to visit Santa.  Not because of Santa himself — you see, in that picture you have your worried face on, your oh shit why are Mommy & Daddy not holding me? face — but because here, you met your soulmate: Man Playing Guitar And Singing.

You stared at this guy for like four or five minutes, Maia, and every time we moved you away you just beelined back to him.  You weren’t interested in dancing or clapping with his music; you simply wanted to watch him in amazement.

Since then, you’ve learned how to point at things that intrigue you, which I’m somewhat grateful you didn’t understand then as you would have pointed at him the whole time, as if we didn’t already know you were interested.  Here at home, you point at things like the floaty balloon that came attached to my birthday flowers, or the dogs, or the mirror, and we show them to you, and you are delighted with the fact that you are communicating with us clearly — or more accurately, you’re delighted that we’re listening.

You really enjoy pointing at the pictures on the walls — they’re pictures of you.  We got them for Daddy for Father’s Day.  I hold you, point at each of the 14 pictures, and describe what is going on in them.  Mostly we giggle together — Maia doesn’t like her hat! is a pretty funny picture, I must admit — but there is one picture that always makes me stop in my tracks, so it’s the last one we look at together.

I say, “This is brand-new Maia, not even a minute old,” and I start to choke up as I look at you, naked and pink and squinty-eyed, curled up on my chest, your dark hair plastered to your forehead, your perfect little pouty lips, your hand pressed to my skin.  That you were ever so small and new baffles me, and I can’t believe that from that new little creature has sprung this active, sassy toddler.

You are still so exquisitely perfect that it makes my heart hurt, though.  I love every moment of being your Mama better than the last, and we are so lucky to have you in our life.

All our love,
Mama & Daddy.