Dear Luciya,
Today you are one year, one month, one week, and one day old.
Your second year of life seems to be suiting you - er, dressing you? - quite nicely.
You still only have those two little teeth, which didn't come in until your eleventh month, in the bottom of your mouth. We've begun brushing them at bath time, with the smallest amount of toothpaste. You dig it. You open wide when you see the tiny toothbrush coming, and afterwards you like to give the rest of your mouth a good once-over all by yourself (read: sucking the bristles for a while).
You are a sweet little summertime weed; all of you is growing. Even your hair. I finally had to bite the bullet a few days ago and cut your bangs. Pretty cute, though, huh? I saved the tiny lock (of course), and put it in your baby book.
Oh, Luciya.
You make me laugh. And lately, whenever someone else is laughing, you want to laugh, too, so then the other person wants to keep laughing so you'll keep laughing, and, well.... ha ha ha! You're a funny little Butter Face.
You're a little ham, too, and you looooove to dance. You'll hear anything with a beat, even an ad for a car dealership on the radio, and you bob your head and groove along in the car seat. If you happen to be standing, you bounce your knees up and down and shake your little bootie. It's like you can't resist it. Your grandad and I took you to the Saturday market a couple weekends ago and there was a small band (well, one guy on the keyboard and one guy on the drums) and you danced and danced in front of them until you drew a small crowd. Seriously, an older couple later sought us out just to meet you, ask about you, and even pick you up. You little charmer, you.
We've been getting used to some glorious weather lately, seventy degree days and all. So I went ahead and felt optimistic the other day as we got ready for our 9:00 a.m. Stroller Strides class, and I dressed you in a cute little top and capri jeans. Well. Naturally when we got to the park the blustery winds dideth blow, and the sky threatened us with heavy clouds. And, naturally, I had cleaned out the back of the car the day before, which had held no less than five of your jackets. So we borrowed a little blue vest from a fellow mom's two year old boy, and I managed to find a pink leopard-print long sleeved shirt, some too-small green fleece pajama pants, and a droopy striped beanie in the car. For the rest of the day, you were affectionately referred to (by me) as Hobo Jane:
The nice weather has thankfully returned, and you and I have been spending much of our days out-of-doors. We go on bike rides (loving the bike seat and helmet!), play in he parks (loving the slides!), and survey the land. A few days ago I brought a large comforter out onto the lawn, and before I had even finished fluffing it you toddled onto it, turned around, plopped on to your bottom and then to your back, where you lay staring at the leaves of the apple trees and pointing out the little green movements. Since that day I've brought the blanket out a few more times, and each time you take the opportunity to do the same thing: immediately flop onto your back and stare at the green leaves against the blue sky.
It's amazing how rapidly you're growing and developing. You've started talking! Well, kind of. When you wave bye-bye you puff out a whisper of "buh -buh." You said "duck" one day, and it excited us so much we try to find all the books that have a picture of a duck in them (and there are A LOT, let me tell you!), and we try to get you to say it again. Can we count it as your first word if you've only really said it once?
You're so curious. The world is your oyster, and your chubby hands are quite adept at prying open the shell. You've discovered a low kitchen cupboard that houses the plastic silverware and cups, and it drives your daddy crazy how quickly you can spread these things all over the floor to make a mess. (I personally think it's kinda cute, and the fact that you like stacking and re-stacking the cups is supposed to be good for your sensory-motor skills. Or something. Right?) You go crazy for a cell phone to open, shut, and speed dial grandma on, and your daddy and I always have one of ours on hand for your not-uncommon shriek fests. Yes, the screams continue, often piercing and always unwelcome, but I tell myself that it's got to be frustrating when you
want to talk, you
try to talk, everyone
else is talking, but you just
can't talk. Huh, baby girl. That's right. Hush now. No, really. Shhhhh.....
Since you've been in your big girl room you've been sleeping like a champ. You are napping once a day, and that's great, because it's a 2 1/2-to-3 hour nap (usually 11:00 - 1:30/2:00). And at night? Twelve, thirteen hours SOLID. Straight. I've had to wake you up on more than one occasion, and I've also had to leave you with your daddy in the morning when I've gone to teach Stroller Strides, because you were still snoozing at 8:15, when I had to leave the house. You go down right at 7:00, no fussing, ready and sleepy-eyed. The other night, however, you fussed for quite a while and when I eventually went in to check on you (for I always check on you, and probably always will, so there), this is exactly how I found you - upside down, with your tiny foot through the slats of the crib and your baby on your chest.
Sometimes as I watch you sleeping so softly in your crib I marvel at how big you have gotten. You are long and strong. Your legs have over the arm of the rocking chair at night as we snuggle before bedtime. (I am still putting you down with a bottle of milk, even though Dr. Angie really wants you to move to sippy cups exclusively. We're working on it, and you're doing well. But how will I put you down each evening without some warm milk in the rocking chair? I can't think of it.) Tonight I bent down to inhale you as we rocked. Your long, fine hair, still damp from your bath, smelled faintly of your Baby Bee shampoo. Your thick eyelashes fluttered over your smooth, chubby cheeks. You sighed, content. Oh, how I treasure these times.
I love you, Luciya!
Love,
Mama
And here he is today, at a year old:
