To my cutie patootie with a ghetto booty

My dearest baby boy,

I'm going to have to get used to calling you something other than the baby, now that you're officially a year and a half old. You clearly have no use for anything 'baby'.

Just as we all suspected, you walked when you were ready, and then just a few weeks later, you ran. You have all your teeth (until those pesky 2-yr-old molars show up in a few months) and use them. You don't take bites, you stuff entire things into your mouth. People who don't know this will offer you a bowl of grapes, cut in half so that you won't choke, only to watch you stuff the entire bowl in, one after the other.

Your favorite things are balls, the sand box, bubbles and pushing cars around on the floor, making "RRRRROOOOOMMMM!" noises. And your Fischer Price piggy bank. You got skee-ills in putting those over sized coins in that slot, then taking them out all over again. You'll sit on the floor in your room doing this over and over again, for 10-15 minutes at a time. You love the play kitchen. You particularly like to put things in the microwave and I have to be careful to check that you didn't put a sippy cup of milk in the refrigerator. Right idea, baaaad results.

You fed yourself with a fork and spoon before you fully walked, so we expect that the slight delays we see in speech are more likely due to your stubborn nature than there's really anything wrong. You can point out nearly a dozen body parts correctly, on both yourself, another person or the dog, and can follow multiple part instructions - so long as it was your idea to do so. And to our surprise (and great pleasure) you show signs of early potty training readiness - after the fact, of course, but when you pat the offending side of your diaper, then point over the gate toward the bathroom and grunt, well, it makes a Mama proud. (And damn happy.)

You're the kid that's going to give Mama gray hair. You're not naughty, per se, but, um...spirited. Nothing is off limits to you. If you want it, you will find a way to climb something to get it. And giggle at your own cleverness while doing so (which is usually my cue that you're up to something, so thanks).

Your little hands are a l w a y s moving - there are days where I think I'm going to go nuts, taking away the tissue box, the wipes box, my glass of soda (cuz heaven forbid I leave that where you can SEE it) and back again, all within ten seconds. Remotes, phones, the Wii controllers - anything with buttons fascinates you, and you MUST HAVE them. You also have a strange obsession with shoes - any one's shoes - and will either try to put them on (I laughed at you in my flip flops the other day) or will carry them one by one and throw them over the gate, then point and beg for them back. These little 'quirks' keep me moving from the time I get home from work till the time I put you in bed. And its only a matter of hours time before you figure out how to climb out of your crib!

We have "Mommy and Will" time every evening for as many minutes as you'll allow. You sit on my lap and I ask things like, "What does kitty say?" and sometimes you oblige with a "Mowww...", sometimes you just look up at me with that little impish smile that I know you will one day use to wrap girls around your finger. It works on me, anyway. I just want to squeeze you and soak in the au jus of your cuteness. Most times, you hug me and give me kisses (you've moved on from the sloppy open-mouthed kisses of babies) and headbutt me inadvertently as you do so.

When I was pregnant with you, I had the usual 'second time Mom' worries...how could I possibly love another child as much as I love your brother? I don't know when it hit me, but da-yum. You're the single most sweetest child, because of your quirks and stubbornness and intelligence, and I can't imagine how anyone could not love you.

You're one of the best things I've ever been blessed with, so I write this today as an acknowledgement and reminder of that blessing. Cuz you'll be escaping that crib to come and wedge yourself between Daddy and I soon enough.

Love always,
Mama