Monthly Newsletter, Month Sixteen

Dear Nate,

Disclaimer: I can this truthfully: every day with you is a joy. There are bad parts sometimes, these days lots of times, but it never even comes close to overshadowing the great parts. Every day I'm grateful to be able to stay home to take care of you; I just can't imagine missing the beautiful/ugly/silly things that make up our day.

That said, you're driving me crazy. You want to be held all the time. But I can't hold you and sit down, I have to hold you and stand and walk around. You weigh 27 pounds. You're killing me. And when I put you down, you burst into tears and scrabble at my legs for me to pick you up. This is the face I see about 10 times a day:



A few days ago you had a 45-minute tantrum, standing in the corner and crying, because I wouldn't pick you up. Nothing I did, short of picking you up (which wasn't happening) would soothe you; you charted a course and were determined to stick to it. This weekend I'll be picking up some books on "How to Handle your Willful Child Without Turning Him Into A Brat or (Conversely) Scarring Him For Life."

When you're doing something that you know you're not supposed to be, you continue to do the thing but you chant "No! No! No!" the whole time. The food is raining down from your highchair tray, the key is heading towards the electrical socket, "no, no, no, no!" It's helpful for me since you give yourself away; if I have my back turned I can still tell you're doing something wrong. It's also infuriating. Stop it.



About a week ago, your talking started snowballing. Every day is a new word. "Da da" is your most reliable - when Daddy comes home from work, I say "Who's there?" and you yell "Da!" When I ask you what your name is, you say "Nah!" You clap your hands on command and demand "ba!" whenever you want to be picked up.

Weirdly enough, coupled with the horrifying willfulness, you are turning into the sweetest boy on the planet. You love to run into my arms; my favorite is after Daddy gives you your bath, you run naked down the hall to me and I sweep you up. You have been known to put your head on my shoulder for actual minutes at a time. About 1/3 of the time we ask for one, you give us kisses. It's something, right?



We had fantastic holiday season. Grandma got you eight wonderful presents for Chanukah; my favorite is this adorable rain-slicker.



Aunt Susan went crazy and got you at least 8 presents at Christmas. She said she had so much fun buying for a boy, for a change! The girls doted on you and everyone admired your flexability, cheerfulness, and independence.

You are best entertained with a few random household items that you can manipulate. Today you spent 15 minutes stacking cans of beans on top of each other. I swear on my Father's fantasy football team that I did not assist, in any way, with the building of this bean tower:



Seriously, that tower simultaneously freaks me out, makes me giggle, and makes me think you're the most skilled baby/toddler/person I've ever heard of! Who else has a kid this coordinated? Nobody, that's who. If anyone has a suggestion of a job that corresponds to bean-can-stacking-ability, let me know.

You are all about fine motor control. You love it when Daddy leaves the tools out; it's like Heaven for you. Mama's not such a big fan, but Daddy promises he'll handle the hospital visit.



You also really like standing or sitting inside of things that don't seem, to me, like anything a person would want to sit or stand in. I don't really get it, but as long as you're happy I guess I am, too. Your love affair with the broom and dustpan continues, as all good affairs do.





But your greatest love affair of all, with Crib Bumper, seems to grow with every passing day. You wind it's ties through your fingers while you suck your thumb and gaze dreamily into the distance. When we let you take it out of your crib, you trail it behind you as you go. We often look over to find you lying on top of it on the floor, thumb in mouth and ties in hand. I truly hope this beautiful relationship never ends.





I love you more than you love Crib Bumper, Natey.
Mama