I know I am late with this, and I am sorry. Between your party and your double ear infection and everything else called life, I just haven’t had time to write to you. That doesn’t mean you are not the most important thing in my life – it just means I was so busy dealing with you that I didn’t have time to write about you. It reminds me of meal time anymore – I sometimes feel like making sure you are eating and drinking occupies most of meal time, and I’m lucky if I manage to eat a few bites of food before dinner is over. If I’m really lucky, it’s still warm when I eat it.
Unfortunately, most of your eleventh month of life was spent sick, and you were even sick on your actual birthday. Fortunately, however, you are a pretty good sport, even when you are sick, but I’m really hoping the last month isn’t an indicator of what we’ll be dealing with all winter. Doctors visits, antibiotics, double ear infections and screaming toddlers do not mix well with long, cold, snowy days.
This month has been so much fun. You started a tumbling tots class at the YMCA, and you love it. I’m not surprised, since I’m pretty sure you are going to be an adrenaline junkie when you grow up. Your favorite activities include being tossed in the pit at the tumbling class, being scared by your dad when he sneaks around a corner, and when we pretend to drop you. You find these all hilarious and exhilarating and laugh so hard, we all join in. Your joy is infectious!
Speaking of laughs, you have started this fake laugh. I won’t even attempt to describe it here, other than to say it comes from your throat and sounds more like a hair ball trying to escape than a laugh. Every single time you laugh your hair ball laugh, I laugh as well. I can’t help it – it’s hilarious. And even funnier is the fact that you know it’s funny. You know you are making me laugh, and you love it. I love it, too.
You’ve learned what NO means, and you do not like it one bit. You either sit yourself on the floor and cry, or you look at whoever said it to you, think about stopping, and decide it’s worth the chance to continue doing whatever you are not supposed to be doing. You even threw your first temper tantrum the other day. I’m asking Santa for an extra supply of patience for Christmas.
You’ve learned how to dismantle part of our stove. I guess you are going to be an adrenaline-seeking engineer. You’ve figured out how to get the kick-plate off the stove, and that’s no easy feat. You can take it off 10x faster than I can put it back on. Where were you when I was fixing the leaky faucet a few months ago?
This month's letter wouldn't be complete, though, without a recap of your first year. Elise, it's been exhilirating, exhausting, amazing, the hardest thing I've ever done, the most rewarding thing I've ever done, trying, joy-filled, and so much more. I think back to my life before you came into it, and it seems dull and grey. You bring such light and happiness to my every day, and I am so proud and happy to be your mom. I've heard women say they were born to be mothers, and I used to think it was so cliche. But it's not - it's simply the truth. I've accomplished a lot and experienced even more, but none of those things quite compare to you. In the words of the great Tina Turner, "you're simply the best". I love you, Mommy
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