the little one

Dear Maya

Today you are eighteen months old. For a year in a half you've been occupying the tiny bedroom at the top of the stairs. The one with the green paint that I picked out for your sister five years ago. The one with the baby animal border that you seem determined to strip right off the walls. Luckily it's a re-useable border so every morning I smooth it back against the wall and wonder if you're trying to tell me it's time to redecorate. Maybe it's time for a colour that was picked just for Maya.

To date you are still refusing to use the sign language that I, stubbornly, keep trying to teach you, but your verbal skills have really exploded in the last month. The days of you toddling around the house in search of Ahm are gone, replaced by the very precise AB-BEE which you say almost as if it's two words and always multiple times. Once just isn't enough. I think it's safe to say Abby is your second on your list of favourites. Now while the obvious choice for first would be me, your mother, especially after the many many sleepless nights we've spent together watching multiple TV series on DVD, it would, surprisingly enough, be the wrong choice. Daddy has been getting top billing around here. Case in point, yesterday you made a beeline for me when we picked you up from the sitter's. You were borderline hysterical, this weird place some where between maniacal laughter and tears of joy (your sister used to do the exact same thing) and trucking down the drive way as fast as you could with your lurching Frankenstein-esque walk until Dad got out of the van a moment after I did and in that instance you changed your trajectory and veered off into Daddy's waiting arms without a backward glance for me. Tonight for dinner you ate exactly two bites of toast and spent the rest of the meal chanting Daddy Daddy Daddy with your arms up in the air waiting for him to pick you up. I have to admit being fourth in line, after Dad, Abby and the cat is somewhat of a new experience for me.

Aww the cat. Oh how you love that cat and luckily Zebby has the perfect temperament for you. Barely raising an eye brow or a paw as you manhandle the poor thing. Although I have to tell you we've really had enough, Zebby included, of you making cat food soup in the water bowl every stinking day. Although I guess that's better than you eating it, but then, on the other hand, at least you would be eating something.

I mean I get it you're a toddler and you have a "whatever" attitude about food. Some days it's way more fun to mush it through your fingers and throw it on the floor than to actually ingest it. I get that, but these up in the middle of the night so hungry you drink two whole bottles in 20 minutes is really getting old. Daddy is more than a little tired of having to get up and get you a bottle at two in the morning. I send him because he's your favourite and, well, there's certain perks that go along with that. It would also be nice if we could figure out what exactly you like to eat. Some days it's baby food, some days our food, some days both and some days neither. The most important thing to remember is it will never be the same thing two days in a row. Ever.

A toddler. Most of the time I let it slip my mind that you are a toddler, preferring to call you "the baby", my baby, instead. I forget that it's time to stop measuring your age in months. That you're getting to be a big girl. That you have opinions, like which shoes you'd like to wear. And feelings, like when you have a temper tantrum when I suggest a pair of your own shoes would be better than say wearing a pair of mine. That you have wants and you can express them even if it takes several minutes for us to get on the same page. Pointing and repeating me me me, isn't always the best descriptor.

This has been a big month, with lots of changes. You've officially crossed that baby threshold. Something that I find both exciting, as I watch you tackle all these new developmental milestones and heart breaking because you are my last journey here. The "baby-boat" has sailed.

I love you.
Mom XO
July 2007