Dear Ana,
Today you turn twenty-one months old, or one and three-quarters as your Father tried to explain to you at dinner last night. But no matter how you say it, it just means that you are growing up faster than I could have ever been prepared for. A friend who is thinking about having a baby asked me the other day if there were a lot of things about being a parent that surprised me and I responded that “the only thing that surprised me was Ana. She amazes me each and every day.”


I am constantly caught off guard by the sheer magnitude of the things you can say and do. It seemed like one day you were hardly talking and now you are practically speaking in complete sentences. Sure you omit the occasional words, but you use subjects, verbs, and even pronouns. More often than not you even use them correctly! Last night we were driving home in the car and the sun was shining straight through the front windshield and there was no escaping the bright glare. I was struggling to even see the traffic lights and from the back seat you said, “Turn light off please, Mommy.”


Physically I am stunned with how quickly you can get from one place to the next. Or as is generally the case, how quickly you can get into something you shouldn’t! I feel as if my senses are heighten just to detect the slightest hint that you are doing something dangerous. Moms don’t just have eyes in the back of their heads, we have ears in the other room! For example, yesterday I heard a strange scratching noise and came into the living room to see that you had dragged an empty laundry basket across the room then turned it upside-down, and climbed up on top of it so you could stand on the coffee table to try and reach the top of the television. Yeah, that wasn’t your smartest move.


Being a total dare devil aside, you are becoming more and more like me every day. You thrive on cleanliness and order. Always following behind me as I clean, dusting the furniture, trying to help me vacuum the floors and putting your toys back on their shelves. A benefit of being organized is that you always know where all of your things are at any point in time. One day you went down for a nap before putting Tinkerbell back into her zebra “bed” and when you woke up you looked over at the zebra, instantly noticing she wasn’t there and frantically asked, “Tink-a-bell go?!” I suggested she was downstairs and you promptly went down to retrieve her and put her back in her bed where she belongs.


You have also inherited my Chapstick obsession. In fact, with as often as you see me applying lip balm it would have been a miracle if you weren’t obsessed. Whenever I grab my Chapstick out of my pocket, no matter where you are, in an instant you are by my side saying, “Chapstick too please?” Who am I to deny you our shared addiction? You are also very adamant about applying it yourself and as a result I have accepted the fact that all my Chapsticks have–and will continue to have– toddler teeth nicks along the smooth surface of the balm.


As you continue to develop your personality and interests, you are also proving to be a lot like your Father as well. I have never pretended to be the slightest bit musical, so I know you get your love of music from his side of the family. When we were at the Oregon State Fair a few weeks ago we picked up an adorable little acoustic guitar, practically your Father’s in miniature, and the two of you love sitting on the couch strumming away together.


In the past month you have become obsessed with Toy Story so the other day while we were at the mall I took you into the Disney store and said you could pick out a toy as a reward for being so well behaved. You instantly requested Jessie (from Toy Story 2), which of course they did not have, but you willingly accepted Woody as an alternative. I was pushing your stroller through the store and you were swinging Woody in the air, pretending he could fly just like Andy does in the movie. Then you started chanting, “a friend me…friend me…A FRIEND ME!!” It took me a couple minutes to understand that you were singing, “You’ve got a friend in me” which is the Toy Story theme song. I was so impressed with your memory, your singing, and your pure enthusiasm with your new toy that I just about yanked you out of your stroller to smother you in hugs and kisses right there in the middle of the crowded mall. Wanting to save some humiliation for your teenage years, I managed to use what little restraint I had to wait until we were out in the parking lot.


Ever since that day, Woody has been your constant companion and faithful side-kick. You ask to bring him along everywhere (“Woody go too?”) and therefore he is never far away. When you take a bath he waits patiently near by (either on the changing table in your room or beside the bathroom sink) and since you are not allowed to play with toys while you eat, he sits on the kitchen counter until you are all cleaned up. It is very obvious: you’ve got a friend in him.


As you grow up I often catch myself eagerly looking forward to your next milestones and accomplishments. From riding a bike to learning to braid your own hair to getting ready for your first day of school and every little thing in between. I think to myself, “Oh I can’t wait until Ana can…” But the truth of the matter is, I can wait. I want to treasure every moment that you are small, every moment that you need me, and focus on what you can do right now. I love everything about you at this very moment and that is exactly how it should be.


All my love,
Mama

Dear Ana,
Over the weekend you turned twenty months old. We happened to be on our annual camping trip to Cove Palisades in central Oregon. I was a little apprehensive about how you would react to this camping trip, and therefore had really low expectations. Preparing myself to possibly drive the three hours or so out there, only to turn around and head back home as soon as you realized we would be somewhere….dirty. You see, you are not a fan of dirty. So much in fact that if you happen to be walking around bare foot and get something on you, you promptly lift up your foot and say, “Dirty!” holding out your foot until I come and remove the offending speck. This is also problematic during meal time when your food as the audacity to stick to your fingers. Let’s just say, the baby wipes are never more than an arms length away.


But the most shocking thing happened. You managed to release your inner Pig Pen. Upon noticing the ground here was different than back home, you instantly bent over to run your fingers through the dusty dirt. My immediate reaction was of utter horror, realizing that I did not pack enough baby wipes to last us the entire week. How could I? There weren’t enough in the world to combat this colossal mess. But as soon as I saw your face light up with delight, watching the clouds of dust billow around you, and seeing the swirls your fingers left on the ground, I relaxed. You were actually fine being dirty. In fact, you were acting like a normal child who isn’t consumed with cleanliness and sanitation. I breathed a sigh of relief and knew you were going to love camping.


It wasn’t until much later that the dirt finally offended you. You were playing with your three year old friend Christian (an older man!), and he was showing you how to “wash” his bike with dirt. You would both scoop up handful of dust and rub it all over the handlebars, seat, and wheels. You decided that merely rubbing the dust wasn’t enough, and decided to “wind up” as if throwing the dust before smearing it all over the bike. However each time you did this, half the dust fell out of your clasped hand and coated the right side of your body. It was then that you looked down and realized the dirt was getting on your shoes. The horror! You immediately stopped touching the dirt, ran over to me pointing at your feet, shouting, “Shoes! Dirty! HELP!” So I swooped you up in my arms, pulled off your shoes and simply knocked them together shaking off all the dust. You were instantly calmed and resumed playing with Christian. Wahoo! Mommy manages to save the day once again!



That once again brings us back to your obsession with shoes. I have no idea where you get it from, but it is a strong obsession. One not to be trifled with. You simply love shoes. There have been several times in which I have had to put you down for a nap wearing your shoes because you refuse to take them off. And don’t even get me started on the week where the only shoes you would wear were your polka dot rain boots. Honey, it was the middle of July and 90 degrees outside with zero chance of rain. But I let you wear them because I could see how important it was to you. That and I was really hoping it might, just might, make it rain.


Shoes aren’t your only obsession. Far from it, in fact. Swings would definitely come right after shoes on the list. You are a swing fanatic. It is the first thing you ask for in the morning and the last thing you want at night. Lately it’s getting harder and harder to distract you from the swings because you are starting to reason with me. Several days ago, at 6:45 am, you asked to go on the swing for the first time that day. When I tried to talk you out of it, claiming it was too cold out you raised your eyebrows and offered, “jacket?”


This month we continued with our session of swimming lessons, which has been a little, um, complicated. You LOVE the water, don’t get me wrong, you just don’t love cold water. And the pool we swim at is freezing. But somehow every week you manage to forget how much you hate cold water and actually look forward to the class. One day you saw me gathering up our swimming stuff and you instantly started walking around the house squealing, “Suit! Suit? Suit!” But your tone quickly changes once we get into the water. You tense up your entire body and give me very clear instructions of your wishes: “Steps. Bag. SHOWER.”


Your vocabulary is still a constant source of amazement to your father and I. Both of us like to talk, so I really shouldn’t be that surprised, but I have to admit that you simply blow me away every single day. We have really been working with you on using your words (when we know that you know them) and practicing your manners. And I think it’s pretty obvious:

Me: Ana do you want to pick your snack?
You: Yeah.
Me: Yeah?
You: yes…say please.


More than just the “please” and “thank you” you are absorbing other social expressions as well. I just never get tired of hearing your tiny voice chirp out “b’ess you!” after I sneeze. When I had a bad cold a few weeks ago, I had a mini coughing fit and I heard you shout from down the hall, “Mommy? B’ess you!”


I know you probably get tired of me saying this, and when you are a teenager you will roll your eyes and utter, “Mo-ther” drawing it out into two long syllables to show your embarrassment, but you really are the most wonderful thing in my life. I am not afraid to admit that every time I walk past your room I have to sneak in and just watch you sleep. I’m still waiting for the novelty of you to wear off and I simply do not think that is going to happen any time soon. You are more beautiful that I could have ever dreamed, more intelligent than I could have ever imagined, and kinder than I could have ever hoped. I love you so very much.


All my love,
Mama

Dear Ana,
Today you turn nineteen months old which just brings you closer and closer to turning two. In fact, at playgroup yesterday we were discussing how “eighteen months is the new two” because the so-called “terrible two’s” start loooong before your second birthday. Not that you are terrible by any means, but you are definitely developing more independence and since your language skills, while incredibly advanced, aren’t fully capable of communicating your every want, need or demand, it often results in frustration. Frustration for you at not being able to tell me what you want and equal frustration for me because I can’t understand what you are trying to tell me. But don’t worry. We will figure this whole thing out together and one day we will laugh at how you suddenly start thumping your legs like a bunny rabbit every time I try to strap you into your car seat because you want to sit on the “big” seat. Not laughing yet? Well, I didn’t say it would be anytime soon.


A perfect example of your growing independence is the fact that you want to “pick” everything. You want to pick your shoes, your television show, your snack. I understand wanting things to be a certain way (believe me, if anyone can understand that, it’s ME) so I try to indulge you whenever possible. A typical snack time often goes something like this:

Me, pointing to animal crackers: “This?”
You, shaking your head, “That.”
Me, pointing to goldfish crackers: “This?”
You, shaking your head and tightening your fists, “That.”
Me, pointing to peanut butter sandwich crackers: “This?!”
You, on the verge of completely hulking out, “THAT!”
Then finally I touch the cheddar puffs and you squeal out in delight, “Yeah!”

So I have taken to setting you on the counter and letting you pick your own snack. This move in itself has saved me hours of mental anguish.


Speaking of snacks, a few days ago you tried orange juice for the first time. Your father was craving some OJ so I picked some up from the store and upon seeing him sipping his beverage you instantly wanted “joooce!” You haven’t been a real fan of anything citrus so I never even thought of giving you orange juice, but OH. MY. GOD. did you love it. You requested it every time you wanted something to drink for three days straight. And the only reason you aren’t drinking it now is because you drank it all. Every once in awhile you would forget what kind of juice it was, but rather than calling it some other fruit (apple, grape, etc.) like any other kid would do, you called it “green juice.” Instead of associating it with fruit you were trying to remember the color. Another reason why I love you: you are always thinking outside of the box.


While you have always loved music, you have recently started wanting to sing all the time. In the car we often listen to a collection of kids songs, which you request by asking for “ABD’s.” Oddly enough, the ABC song isn’t even on there, but that is the song you associate with singing, so ABD’s it is. Ever the perfectionist, you like to practice constantly and therefore can sing a little more of the song each day. When you started it was just AB’s. Then progressed to ABD’s. Then ABCD’s. Some days you really get going and repeat each part you know, getting progressively louder each time you start over with the letter A. Occasionally we even have some G, H, M-O-P sprinkled into the mix.


In mid June we started a music class through the parks and rec, “Magic Music for Preschoolers.” Since you love singing and dancing, I thought it would be a fun creative outlet for you. Well, I was right, but I think in doing so I released your inner diva. You have discovered a love of being the center of attention. When the class gathers in a circle you like to position yourself right in the middle and put on a little twirly dance for everyone in the room. Most of the other children are shy and cling to their mothers, but not you. Oh no, not you. You love to giggle at your refection in the full length mirror, then race around the room pausing to point out an animal on someones shirt before gleefully jumping around to the music no one can hear but you.


Your silliness doesn’t stop with singing and dancing. You enjoy giggling and laughing and more than anything you love to be tickled. While the traditional means of aggressive tickling are all well and good, what you consider “tickle” is when someone slowly traces a finger across your skin. I usually start on your forehead and draw an imaginary line down your nose, across your cheek, over around your ear then down your neck, arm and finally trace each finger. You giggle softly and slowly blink your eyes simply enjoying the sensation. We have started using this kind of tickling as part of our wind-down process before you go to sleep. You lay across my lap, gaze up at me and say, “tickle?”

You are such a girly-girl and every once in awhile I catch a glimpse of what you will be like when you are a boy-crazy teenager. You and I were out to lunch with some of my friends from my old office when you peaked over the back of our seat and noticed a boy, probably about 10-years old, eating his lunch. Always the social butterfly, you quickly said, “Hi.” But the restaurant was pretty loud and he didn’t hear you. You wanted to clarify who you were talking to, but not knowing his name you shouted, “Hi, boy!” This got quite the giggle, not only from my friends but the other restaurant patrons. And not wanting to disappoint, you promptly set to walking up and down our booth singing, “Hi boys! Hi boys!” This has now become your favorite expression and you use it frequently, much to your father’s dismay.


But while you are stubborn and silly, you are also incredibly sweet and caring. Last week you witnessed our cat, Abby, get sick and throw up all over the window sill. You instantly burst into tears and wanted to run over and hug her. Since Abby wasn’t feeling well, we knew she wasn’t in the mood for one of your full-body hugs, plus we didn’t want you to get into the mess, so we made you stay back. You were clearly distraught by the whole ordeal because you talked about it for several days after the fact. You’d be sitting quietly and suddenly your eyes would get big and you would said, “Abby…” then shifting your expression to one of great sadness, “…sick.”


I know I sometimes struggle with your growing personality, your developing independence, and your stubborn streak. But when I see these characteristics emerging, I can’t help but see a little of myself in you. Then my frustration fades to pride as I witness the person you are becoming right before my eyes. Ana, I am more proud of you than you will ever know, so please don’t ever stop being you.
All my love,
Mama