Anniversary

Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.

But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:

To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.

To know the pain of too much tenderness.

To be wounded by your own understanding of love;

And to bleed willingly and joyfully.

To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;

To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;

To return home at eventide with gratitude;

And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.
-Kahlil Gibran, on love

Today. Tomorrow. Forever.
I love you.

Llewella

My dearest Daughter,

Just three days ago you came into this world, and my life changed forever. That was the day I realized there was no limit to my love. There are no borders, no confines to restrict the fierce affection that courses through me. The walls of my heart encompass only that, my heart, not my love. There are no walls, no boundaries to restrain my feelings. Just because I love your brother with all of my being doesn't mean that I can't expand again and love you too, with every ounce of my self. It's almost funny now that I was afraid of that. I was afraid of figuring out how I would fit more love into my life, afraid that there was no way I could love anyone or anything else like I love your brother. And then I met you, and you proved me wrong.

This is how you made your debut:

It was the morning of your due date, May 11 and I had yet another doctor's appointment. We all thought that maybe you'd come a little early, so when week 40 rolled around I was done, done, done with being pregnant. My back ached, the belly hurt and I simply could wait no longer to meet you. At the office I was dilated 2cm - not much, but more than anything the previous visits had revealed. I was hopeful and let the tiniest bit of excitement slip into my consciousness. You were coming - maybe not that day, but soon!

Easy but timeable contractions started shortly after that 10AM visit. There was nothing really intense about them, in fact the only difference between those contractions and the 25-50 Braxton Hicks contractions I had been having per day for weeks prior was that they were somewhat regular. I'd glance at my cell phone every time I felt that wave of tightness start in my lower abdomen, careful not to let myself think that I was actually timing them yet - I didn't want to get ahead of myself. 11:37, 11:48, 11:56, 12:05 - these contractions were about 10 minutes apart!

So we got your big brother dressed and we all headed out. It was a beautiful, sunny day and Lithia Park was gorgeous. Spring had filled in the trees, new green leafs flickered like tiny flames on every tree. Rhododendrons so red and so pink, they could have been painted into the scenery. Your dad played with Asa, climbing up the ladders and tumbling down the slides, while I walked and and rubbed my belly, thinking of you. I paced through the trees, keeping track of the rolling waves and talking to you. Hello baby, I thought aloud, when are you coming? Do you feel these contractions too? Are you as ready as I am? We walked and walked, up the paths and down, stopping each time we passed the playground to laugh a bit with the boys, watch your brother shimmy belly first down the twisty slide and kiss your dad as we made another lap around the park.

The walking really seemed to help. The more I walked the more intense the contractions became. Nothing too strong, mind you, just more than they had been. I could still talk and think and move about regularly. These were the easy breezy contractions that I could only barely believe were the real thing. And just about the time when I was ready to believe that this was it, this was labor, this was the day you would come into the world, this was the time....they stopped. We got home from our laps around the park and I promptly laid down. All that walking really took it out of me and I was ready for a nap. And with that nap the contractions slowed and slowed until they stopped all together. I was disappointed and even sad - I really thought we were there. I tried not to dwell on it though, tried to remain positive and tried to get some sleep.

Turns out, that was a good idea. Around 10pm those pulsing waves started again. They began up high, above my belly button, and squeezed through my abdomen all the way to the very base of me. Rhythmic and strong, these were contractions. I knew I should rest, so I stayed in bed, trying desperately to find a position that allowed me to breathe through the contractions and relax between them. I slept, off and on, for the next few hours. These contractions were the real deal, to be sure, but still not so strong that I couldn't focus through them or sleep between.

Until 1am. That's when things started rocking and rolling. I woke your dad up and let him know it was time to start keeping track of these suckers. We found a website that was devoted solely to contraction counting and began timing. Three minutes apart? Really? That can't be right, I said, lets try the next one. Two and a half minutes. Three minutes. Two minutes. Really? REALLY? These waves shot through my body and took over my whole being while passing, but I was still standing, still pacing, still breathing right through them. Surely they couldn't be this close, surely there was a mistake in the counting. Your dad suggested we call Jani, our doctor, but I said no, it's too early, lets just keep timing these and make sure we're accurate.

By 3AM they were a minute and a half apart and we had been timing them for more than an hour - they actually were that close. I paced our tiny house, walking in circles through the dark living room, into the dimly lit kitchen and down the hall past our bedroom. Each time I lapped by your brother's door I heard his soft night time music playing and resisted the urge to run in and pick him up, to hold him to me and say you're going to be a big brother soon, the baby is coming, the baby is coming! Instead I would brace myself against the wall, or the arm of the couch or the kitchen counter - whatever happened to be nearest. Your dad would rush to my side and push, hard, on my lower back. Just the perfect spot to counter the enormous amount of pressure in my belly. Each time I was amazed at how much that actually helped.

By 3:15 I was finally convinced it was time to call. I dialed the office, got the midnight answering service and waited to wake up Jani in the middle of the night. When her sleepy voice asked how far apart the contractions were I hesitantly said, about a minute and a half? As if it were a question. But it doesn't feel like the contractions are strong enough to be that close together, I told her, and I really don't want to get there too early. She said she thought we should come on in and, as another wave, more intense than anything yet, ripped though me, I conceded. It was time to call your grandmother, get her to come stay with your brother and head to the hospital to meet you.

It took grandma no more than 15 minutes to get here. She had had her bag packed for weeks and was more than ready to rush over here at the drop of a hat. Somehow those 15 minutes stretched on forever. I had 6 or 7 contractions in that time, each stronger, more insistent than the last. I paced the living room, stopping to lean on the couch and breathe, breathe, breathe through those waves and looking out the window for the lights of her truck in between each one. Finally the road lit up and the rumble of the engine stopped right outside. She was here. Time to get in the car and drive.

I quickly stopped in your brother's room, kissed his head and told him how much I loved him, promised him I'd bring him home a healthy, happy baby to be a big brother to and closed his door again. I hugged my mom, paused for another pulsing wave and strapped myself in the passenger seat. This was it. We were finally here, driving to the hospital in the middle of the night, ready to bring you into the world.

We arrived in the ER at 4am (the same time, as it so happens, that we arrived at the hospital for your brother's birth. The day after your due date, just like Asa). They were ready for us, but we still had to wait a few moments for the OB nurse to come and lead us to the right place. Angus says it was less that two minutes that we stood in that sterile grey hallway waiting for someone to come show us the way. if you asked me, I'd say it was infinitely longer. I think I had two contractions during that time, each one rocketed through my body, quickly spreading that wave of tightness through my belly, my back, my entire being.

Once in our room we had a quick ride on the fetal monitor to make sure everything was ok. I could hear the metallic whah-whah, whah-whah whirring of your heart beat and it was soothing. It sped up during contractions, slowed down in between. These contractions were the strongest yet. I thought about my breath and sighed hard into the height of each wave, and relaxed into it as much as I could. Being on my back, on a table was about the least comfortable position I could imagine. I was (and still am) surprised at just how striking that was to me this time. It never really occurred to me the first time - it was all new and uncomfortable. But this time around I was acutely aware of the awkwardness of that position. I felt like a turtle on it's shell, struggling through the most most intense sensations a body has ever met, trying to relax, breathe and stay comfortable. After just a few minutes though our wonderful nurse, Tasia, said that we'd monitored enough. Every thing was perfect and it was time to get in the tub.

The room was dimly lit, some sort of innocuous soft music gently coursed through the speakers and the water was warm and waiting. The second my body touched down I felt relief. Absolutely instantaneous. My whole body was lighter, my whole self freer somehow, eased and supported. I leaned my shoulders and upper body over the edge of the tub and placed my knees at the bottom, bringing the water level chest height. The next contraction threatened to split me in two, but something else took over at this point. Some sort of awesome feminine power that couldn't be explained, only experienced. Some sort of primal magic, otherworldly strength kicks in and lets you ride it till the end. Two more impossible waves crashed through me and I breathed heavy, moaned right into the crest and kept on swimming. With the next I felt nothing but the need to push, like that's all my body could possibly do at that moment in time. And push I did. Just once. Once! I felt your head moving through my body and I knew you were nearly here. Without thinking, I reached down and greeted your tiny head with my own hands. What a moment. I freeze it for a second in my head, remembering just what it was like to be the first hands on your body, the first human contact in this world. I love that. Jani was there just in time to reach in the tub herself and help to bring your slippery self up to my chest. And there you were. Wet and warm and quiet. I held you there, you and I floating in our tub and you opened your eyes, slowly looked around, blinked against the lights and took your very first breaths. You didn't even cry love, you just let it all wash over you, you just took it all in. Silent and alert, you greeted your new home.

Here are a few things we have learned about you in your first three weeks of life:

This is us, just out of the tub. This is your favorite position, laying belly to belly. We sleep like this most nights, you and I. I can feel the warm weight of you, rising and falling with my breath. You start to fidget when you're ready to eat, no screaming and crying, just a little nudge to mama, telling me it's time for a snack. And then it's back to sleep for 3-4 hours.



You and dada have a similar profile and I think you will look a lot more like him.



You like your swaddle blanket, but not quite as much as your brother did. You like to be warm and cozy against someone - and really, who wouldn't?



Your brother loves you very, very much. You are the first thing he looks for when he enters a room "Lew-lew?" he asks, making sure you are near. Each morning when he comes to join us in bed he reaches out his sleepy hand and brushes your head with his fingers so very gently. "Aw," he says "so toot. " Because you are so cute.


We make a great family of four


There is nothing quite like a nap with you. There's something about holding you that just calls us to sleep. Beautiful, warm and soporific, we can't help but snuggle.



You have delicious toes...



...they even make Asa's look big!



You are quiet and peaceful. In fact, you hardly make a peep. We have not done any of the settling down and calming that we seemed to do with Asa. There's no midnight rocking or soothing jiggling and when dada sings to you it's just because he wants to, not because he's consoling you.


You make faces in your sleep and every single one of them warms my heart.



You were born a rockstar - a tiny, petite pixie of a rockstar.

You, my love, make our family complete and I cannot imagine life without you. Thank you for choosing us as your family.

2 YEARS!

Dear Asa,

Sometimes I wake before you in the morning. I lay there, wiping the sleep and dreams from my eyes, trying to listen for the early waking sounds of you. Minutes pass and I am more awake. I feel the baby start to stretch and kick inside – apparently I’m not the only one ready for you to get up. As I lay there longer and longer I think of you – sweet messy curls and a sleepy grin. Warm skin and the fresh smell of the wind in your hair. Clear gray/blue eyes crystalline and alive with wonder. And then I realize it and it almost makes me laugh out loud. I miss you! You’ve been away from me for the past 8-10 hours, sleeping just in the other room, and I miss you. I can’t wait to hear your little voice calling from the other side of the wall “Mama…..mama….mama!” telling me that you are awake. I can’t wait to feel your toasty little self curl into the bed with me while we cuddle for your morning bottle. I can’t wait to have you here, to start the day and to walk through it with you.

(Telling stories with grandma)

You are very helpful these days, insistent upon lending a hand really. You love to vacuum (and now you’re big enough to hold the upright and even roll it back and forth) and doing the dishes is a big favorite too. You push your stool right up to the sink and declare it time for “dishey”. You must put on your own shoes (which takes considerable effort on both our parts. You have to balance on one leg long enough to slip a foot in and I have to get that shoe open and help you get that foot in without being seen as helping. A challenge, to be sure). You are also very helpful when it comes to my morning cup of coffee. You must be the one to pour the beans from the jar into the grinder and then you alone must push the button to start the grind. You love this part the very best – and who doesn’t? – its so loud and satisfying. You’re even pretty darn good at pouring the ground beans into the cone. So helpful love.

You’ve started to tell jokes – well, sort of. Watching and searching for spiders is one of your favorite pastimes lately. We often talk about their webs, their legs and how they can sometimes be scary. Out of the blue a couple weeks ago you came up to me, big cheek splitting grin on your face. “Mama! Mama!” you said “Spider (sounds like ‘pie-dah’), mouth!” and pointed to your mouth. It took me a second to realize that you had not, in fact, eaten a spider, you were playing a joke on me. And laughing about the brilliance of it all as you were saying it. “Spider, mouth, yuk yuk yuk!!!” and huge bouts of belly laughs to follow. Now the joke has evolved to include other body parts, all equally as funny. “Mama – spider hair!” and “Mama – spider butt!” are two of your best jokes these days.

(Your first concert)

You love your stickers and Match Box cars these days. The bottom three feet of our full length hall way mirror is plastered in stickers of every sort. You like to check them out a few times a day, pointing out your current favorites (the jackhammer and hard hats are so hot right now) and marveling over their continued greatness. The little cars are always underfoot, though you do like them to all be together more often than not. I’ll find little piles of them in the cupboards, under the couch and in the fridge. You’ve started to identify them individually now as well, they are not all simply just cars (or “hars” as it is these days). The sports cars are zoom-zooms, except for the sportiest of all which is, for some reason, the batmobile. There’s also the water truck (“lah-dah truck!”), the jeep ("deep!"), the safari truck (“hafari truck”) and, your favorite, the trash truck.

Thursdays are trash day around here, and there are few things in this world that excite you like that truck. As soon as we hear the tell tale rumbling we run for the bedroom window (it has the prime view). You have to stand on the window sill, which only protrudes from the wall about 3.5 inches, so that you have to be on your tip toes the whole time. Your body is pressed to the glass, uncaring of the cold. You don’t take your eyes off the scene for a second. You are enraptured, completely. You are absolutely silent, taking in as much detail as possible, there’s just no room for words. After its over (about 18 seconds later) the talking begins. We have to tell the story now. “Trash!” you start – which sounds more like “tur-ass”. “That’s right” is the correct response, “the trash truck was just here!” You love the enthusiasm and I can’t help it, you are just buzzing with the energy of it all. “Man!” you shout next. “Yep, there was a man in the truck” I prompt you for the next line “Drive! Seat! Wheel!” Three short bursts, pauses between these key words. “Wow!” I exclaim, “was there a man in the driver’s seat with the steering wheel?!” And you just beam. You love the back and forth, the conversation of it. It’s important to you that I repeat the words you say, like you have to know for sure that I understand what you are talking about, I’m not just faking it (like I have to do sometimes when I’m not at all sure what you’ve just said). It’s a very enthusiastic exchange and we have lots of other topics like this that we tell stories about all the time. There’s the one where Papa John mows the lawn, and the one where the spider comes down from the ceiling onto grandma’s arm. They are such special moments, these conversations, and I try to remember how important they are to you – especially when it’s the 34,876,987^th time we’ve told the story that day.

(The audience loved you...and the feeling was mutual)

Your birthday party was an absolute success. A day filled with every bit of weather imaginable - sun, wind, rain, snow, hail - all coming and going in these short and energetic bursts. Just like you. It was warm enough to play outside for awhile where you ran in circles, chased your friends, stomped in the mud and jumped on hay bales. All through these strange and quick flashes of weather. The hail really intrigued you. “Rain?” you asked “Ow, ow!” you mimed as it thunked off your head. Inside the streamers were up and the balloons floated about. There was no shortage of cupcakes, or “ca-cakes!” and when dad come around the corner with the bagpipes blaring for the singing of Happy Birthday, you lit up brighter than those candles. You were happy all day and did a great job of sharing with your friends. Your dad and I beamed the whole way through, shoulders back and chests out as we watched our big two year old son enjoy his day.

(Birthday morning baba bliss - with dada)

When I put you to bed tonight, after a big 2^nd birthday, I stayed longer than usual. “Ni-night” you said when you finished your baba. That’s usually my cue to tuck you into your crib with your favorite softy blanket. “Can I hold you?” I asked. You considered a moment, looked up, nodding you head and said “howd you” in affirmation. Warm, happy tears rolled down my cheeks as we sat there together, your tiny, growing body next to mine. I felt so privileged in that moment, so thankful you chose me to be you mom. Two years babe – two whole years of mommying. I am filled with pride, spilling over with love and just so thankful to be on this journey with you.

Thank you baby, with all of my heart.

Love,

Mom

22 Months

Dear Asa,

Every time someone asks me how old you are it nearly slips out “Two,” and then I catch myself. “Well, almost two,” and then I must clarify “actually he’s just 22 months.” Just 22 months my love, and on the cusp of two.

It seems that the closer we are to that magic number, the more out of hand and unexplainable the tantrums become. They are nothing short of amazing these days – full on body contorting, screaming, kicking, flailing tantrums. Sometimes I expect it, I see it coming and I prepare. You’ve found the box of cookies and you’re sneaking to your room to consume them in private. But I caught you, and I can’t let you do that babe. So I tell you first how it’s going to happen. “Asa, you can’t have all those cookies. Please give the box to mama and I’ll share one with you.” “No” you shake your head. “Sorry buddy, that’s the way it goes” and I nab the box of contraband. First comes the yell, then your legs seem to lose all their strength and you collapse under the weight of your sorrow. You crumple to the floor, kicking and crying and the tantrum is in full swing. But other times its not so obvious. Other times it comes out of nowhere and sends us both flying. Like when I’m cleaning up the living room and come across a scrap of the newspaper that’s been torn off a page and nearly lost halfway under the couch. I grab it, crumple it up and head for the recycle bin. And just as I’m about to toss it in I see you out of the corner of my eye, body in flight as you throw yourself onto the floor in utter despair over….over what exactly I’m not sure. The moving of the scrap of paper? Was it perfectly placed? Or perhaps the throwing away? It’s always a mystery, because by the time I offer it back to you it’s too late. Way too late. Or when I peel you a banana and offer it to you. “No” you say, and shake your head. “No, thank you” I remind you and take a bite of the refused banana. And that’s when the world starts to come apart at the seems. That’s when you fall down in anguish and commence tantruming. There’s also the ‘take the shoes on or off tantrum’, the ‘moved the toy tantrum’, the ‘you closed the refrigerator door tantrum’ and, my personal favorite, the ‘I enjoyed that 15 seconds ago but now it is the worst thing in the world tantrum’.

New words tumble out of your mouth daily, though not always so clearly. So far finding and pronouncing the final consonant in a word – like the “k” in rock or the “d” in bed – is proving difficult. But put two together at the beginning of a word – like the “cl” in clock and the “tr” in truck – and you rock the heck outta those letters! You’ve also started to string a few words together, but usually backwards. It always makes me think that you’re speaking in a foreign language. Like when you pass my Steve’s littler box and have to remind us “Poo-poo yucky Steve”. Or when we’re driving down the freeway, “truck big!” I’m not sure whey you switch them around, but the point still gets across.

As much as you work on your words though, you are still more physical than verbal, preferring to work on your body and it’s ability. It’s really quite amazing my love. You’re this tiny thing, a small human with muscles and bones still growing and stretching and learning. And yet you can zoom through the obstacle course of a living room in mere seconds. You come screaming through the kitchen, dodge the stools, jump the yoga mat, avoid Steve and grab a dinosaur as you, literally, fly through the air in one leaping bound onto the couch. Where did you find the coordination for that?! And how about all these other physical capabilities – like slipping your shoes on and off, taking stairs with alternating feet, stacking blocks as tall as you, climbing ladders, kicking balls, throwing overhand, standing on one foot, spinning, somersaulting and jumping with both feet off the ground. How did you figure these things out already? It kind of blows me away. Asa, big as you may be for your age, you’re still only three feet tall and to see such athleticism from a miniature person, well, it’s almost startling. And I think it does frighten other people every now and then. They just don’t expect it, don’t see it coming. We’re just used to your acrobatics. Like when we’re playing with friends, running around someone else’s living room, playing with their toys and jumping on their furniture. And then you climb to the very back of the couch, the highest point in sight, and jump, with a tumbling roll, onto the carpet. Several parents leap to catch you, to help you recover, only to find you grinning from ear to ear. Or at the park when you eye the slide, tuck your head down and run right for it. You shimmy up the end and climb the whole way up the slide before you do a quick about face and throw yourself back down. It all happens so quick, you’re usually back on the ground and on to the next before there’s time to consider anything else.

Lately one of your favorite things to do it to stand on your dad’s back while he does yoga and balance there. I don’t know what made you think of it, but it’s just tops in your book. You stand up there as long as you can while your dad moves about. Sometimes you purposefully bail out, kicking your feet forward and thumping down onto your butt right on your dad’s shoulders. Sometimes you try to stand on one foot up there (with little success thus far) and sometimes you just leap off all together. You love it up there though and often proclaim that you are “Biiiiiiiiiiiiiiig” while you stand up tall.

You love your shoes these days. Any of them really. And you often refuse to take them off when we get home. Or you insist on having them on while running around the house. You still like your hats too, especially trying on different ones and checking them out individually in the full length mirror.

My favorite time of the day is first thing in the morning. I hear you call from your room “Mama! Dada! Maaaamaaaaa!” and I heave my ever-rounding self out of bed. I heat up your morning baba and bring it with me as I open the door to your room. As soon as the crack of lights breaks in I see you grin. You’re standing up, hands on the rail or your crib. The smile spreads and you jump with excitement. We open your curtains to determine if its light or dark (usually dark) and switch your nighttime music off (Deep Breakfast by Ray Lynch). I carry you down the hall and plop you onto our bed. Then the three of us tuck in and snuggle while you finish your morning baba. We talk about the day and ask you what your dreams were. We hide under blankets and laugh in the semi-darkness. Its warm and cozy, sleepy and lovey and an absolutely perfect start to the day.

Love,

Mom

Frozen fog

From a few weeks ago now, but still just as chilly...

"it's Asa!"

(Please try to ignore the messy bedroom behind the ridiculously cute kid.)

21 months

Dear Asa,

Two days after your second Christmas you turned twenty-one months old. Wow, that’s a mouthful. It's a little awkward telling people your age now. It just doesn't roll off the tongue. But 21 months you are and every bit of it, it seems.

We've been going to dance class pretty regularly now and it's been amazing to watch your progress. The first few classes you had fun, but were certainly not interested in following directions and doing what everyone else was doing. It made the class a bit challenging for me, but I'm so glad we stuck with it. Now you've got the routine down (though sometimes you decide not to follow it anyway). When we get to class you help Miss Cassie get the mats out and we all do our stretches together. You're working really hard at standing on one foot these days, and your concentration is adorable. You love the dances that involve jumping and running and you manage to incorporate them in the dances that don't. You're still not a big fan of the holding hands part, where all the parents and kids hold hands in a circle and dance together. Usually at this point you break from the circle, stand a few feet away and do your own little solo dance. It works out fine, and really is pretty cute. It's always so shocking to watch you, a boy, in sharp contrast to the little girls that are in class with you. Before having kids I would have called such a statement sexist. At least a little bit. But my goodness Asa, you are a boy if ever there was one! And nowhere is it illustrated better than in dance calss. You jump and stomp and growl loudly through each dance, you sprint from side to side, throwing yourself onto the floor dramatically for the finale. There is nothing delicate or soft there at dance, no slow twirling or fluttering of scarves. You grunt and whip around the room, laughing and yelling the whole way. Now, of course there are girls of this nature too, and boys that are contrary. I don't mean to pigeonhole you already babe. But there are other times too where the boy just shines through, with traits and attributes that you seem to have learned innately. Like crashing noises. Who taught you that? Who taught you to take your dump truck and ram it into another truck over and over again while saying "boom! Bang! Boom!"? It must be born into boys. At least, this boy.

The biggest development this month is a huge one babe - HUGE! We are the very proud parents of a little boy who pees on the dunny! Amazing. I never in my life thought that I would be so excited, so enthused by bodily functions. Pee in the potty is glorious and, at least at these early stages, very exciting for everyone involved. We shout and clap and dance for joy when you flush and we wave bye-bye to the peepee. We talk about it all the time and you are quite proud. In fact, you are really quite keen to show anyone willing to watch that you can pee in the dunny. And I have no problem inviting whomever happens to be over to the bathroom with us to help in our pee adventures. Don’t worry, there won’t be any (much) more bathroom talk in your letters, but it’s such a milestone, I had to mention it.

Your second Christmas has come and gone and it certainly was a lot different from the first. You loved opening gifts, though you were much more fastidious about the whole affair than I thought you'd be. Given your general energy and exuberance, I thought you'd tear mercilessly into those packages, ripping and shredding to your heart's content. But it was quite the opposite. When we handed you the first package of Christmas morning, you held it in your hands a while, turning it over and over to examine it. I started a small tear at the back and you took over from there. Ever so delicately, using only thumb and index fingers, you gently tore one, long strip of colored paper from the package. When that strip went all the way around and came off, you started another. And then another and another until you had unraveled enough of it for the sweater to fall out. You were eager to start the next one, so we plopped another in your lap. Surely this time you'd just rip it to pieces I thought. But no. It was the same slow and meticulous process with each and every present that morning, even when you helped us with our own gifts. It was a nice, leisurely morning of present unraveling and I enjoyed it thoroughly.

Your favorite show these days is The Busy World of Richard Scarry and I love this because the books were favorites of both your dad and I when we were little. And as much as you love your shows, books are still first place and I really like this. You often walk through the house, looking for your dad or I saying "Bok, bok, weeeeed, weeeed!” Because you’d like someone to read you the book in your hand. You'll take one of us (or often both) by the hand and pull us to the ground, wherever we may be standing. You hand us the book, instructing us to "weed, weed!" and we do just that. Your favorite book right now is one you got for Christmas called "I'm a Big Brother" and you like to point to the older boy in the pictures saying "bud-der, bud-der" declaring that he is the big brother. Sometimes you point to him and call him Asa too. I love that this connection is taking place, and I often wonder just how much of it makes sense to you. You are very curious about all things baby these days, though you still think anyone under 3 feet tall is a baby. I’m glad there’s still months to work up to the real thing.

Your vocabulary grows daily, but what astounds me more is your understanding of what is said to you. Of course we talk to you all the time, explaining what we're doing or what we'd like you to do. It's just a sort of habit now, something we do without thinking. And recently it has become very obvious that you hear every word of it and understand most of it. Like just a few days ago with the stickers. You had a sheet with 20 or so different brightly colored stickers and you loved them. I showed you that they came off the page and stuck to things. Excitement bloomed on your face - these super cool things just got cooler! You delicately picked one off and tried to stick it to the floor. Only the sticky side was affixed to your finger, so no matter how much pushing you did, the sticker remained on your finger. Frustration was quick to follow. You managed to free yourself of that sticker and started another. This one you tried to stick to the wall instead, but with the same miserable outcome. A tantrum was near, I could feel it coming like a storm (a storm that hits 86 times a day and is best avoided, if possible). So I just explained it to you. It's worth a shot, right? "Asa, you have to take the sticker off your finger and turn it over so the sticky side is down, then it will stay where you put it." It was just automatic, explaining another new discovery and trying to avoid catastrophe. You tilted your head up at me, examined your finger, sticker still sticking and gently plucked it off with the other hand. You grabbed the edges, managed to flip it over and stuck that sucker right on the hallway mirror. Success! The look you gave me won't quickly be forgotten. Your whole body seemed to say "Mama I did it! I did it!" The pride that bloomed in your eyes was utterly touching and I teared right up. It was a tiny micro moment to be remembered.

Beets seem to be your new favorite food these days and I’m happy to feed them to you as often as you like. There's also a lot of dried fruit being consumed these days and little Mandarin oranges too. You love to look at yourself in pictures and declare "It's Asa!" and point to your self with a great, big smile. The syllables of ‘it's Asa’ sliding into one another sound more like "it Zah-Zah" which only makes it all the better. You love to have a sip of my tea once it's cool enough, but can't say "hooooot hoooooot" enough, as if both checking to see and letting me know that this is indeed hot. Farts make you laugh now (thanks solely to your father) and your puzzles have suddenly become your very favorite toy. You say please (when prompted) and thank you (also when prompted) and there are few things that will get you further in this house. To see your amazing little face looking up at mine, eyes begging, and hear those magical words come out is all but irresistible. For now anyway…

Love,

Mom