Letter to Lucia: 14 Months
Little One,
As you can see, I am several days late with this month’s letter. This is your fault, though not in an intentional spirit. You’ve followed old habits and acquired a cold after our long flight, and you also seem to be teething—you’ve been gnawing and drooling and screaming and crying and not napping well and not falling asleep well and basically not given me even one millisecond’s rest for one entire week. I am falling over with exhaustion and frustration. Only late this afternoon did the regular Lucia seem to reappear, with dancing and snapping and giggling. Perhaps the worst is over. (And surely it is, since I have to get through just Monday now and then we’re on our way to two weeks of grandparent backup. I am literally counting the minutes.)
But, a quick recap of the month nonetheless. Walking, of course—more consistently now, especially yesterday and today, when you’ve often opted to walk instead of crawl to your objective. And more words—besides “bump,” you’re saying “ball,” and yesterday you added a new one: “boom.” Ever since you were a newborn, I’ve said “Boom!” whenever we knock over a tower of any kind, or sit down from a standing position, or basically do anything else involving a sudden movement. Now you say it too. You don’t quite get the “m” at the end yet, but it’s definitely “boom.” We knocked over about twenty block towers this afternoon and every single time you said “Boom!”
You passed your weigh-in on Wednesday—you are 18.1 pounds; as suspected, nothing was wrong with you that a Month of Fat couldn't cure—and, that taken care of, are now refusing to eat. I am so frustrated by this—day #4 of the food refusal—that I won’t even write about it here. You’re not starving, of course—and today you ate much better. Hopefully it’s all just related to the cold and the teething.
This will be a short letter this month, dear one. Perhaps you heard talk of a potential sibling and have reacted with both guns blazing. Nicely played, oh firstborn. Nicely played.
As you can see, I am several days late with this month’s letter. This is your fault, though not in an intentional spirit. You’ve followed old habits and acquired a cold after our long flight, and you also seem to be teething—you’ve been gnawing and drooling and screaming and crying and not napping well and not falling asleep well and basically not given me even one millisecond’s rest for one entire week. I am falling over with exhaustion and frustration. Only late this afternoon did the regular Lucia seem to reappear, with dancing and snapping and giggling. Perhaps the worst is over. (And surely it is, since I have to get through just Monday now and then we’re on our way to two weeks of grandparent backup. I am literally counting the minutes.)
But, a quick recap of the month nonetheless. Walking, of course—more consistently now, especially yesterday and today, when you’ve often opted to walk instead of crawl to your objective. And more words—besides “bump,” you’re saying “ball,” and yesterday you added a new one: “boom.” Ever since you were a newborn, I’ve said “Boom!” whenever we knock over a tower of any kind, or sit down from a standing position, or basically do anything else involving a sudden movement. Now you say it too. You don’t quite get the “m” at the end yet, but it’s definitely “boom.” We knocked over about twenty block towers this afternoon and every single time you said “Boom!”
You passed your weigh-in on Wednesday—you are 18.1 pounds; as suspected, nothing was wrong with you that a Month of Fat couldn't cure—and, that taken care of, are now refusing to eat. I am so frustrated by this—day #4 of the food refusal—that I won’t even write about it here. You’re not starving, of course—and today you ate much better. Hopefully it’s all just related to the cold and the teething.
This will be a short letter this month, dear one. Perhaps you heard talk of a potential sibling and have reacted with both guns blazing. Nicely played, oh firstborn. Nicely played.
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