So, this is a blatant rip-off of Dooce. But, hey, part of being smart is being smart enough to steal good ideas, right? For eight months or so, I've been writing monthly letters to my daughter. I hope that some day they'll be an incredible gift to her, a record of who she was at this age and of who I was as her mother. So I guess I'll start posting them here, unless I change my mind. But here goes.
Dear Mia,
Last night, I was summoned into your room twice. I found you standing in your crib caterwauling. The first time, you proclaimed, "I need a change my diaper." The second time, you said, "I need a tissue." You have always known what you wanted, but these days, you are finding the words to tell us.
Learning to speak, to put words together into sentences and communicate with your fellow humans is a momentous achievement. But of all the milestones, it is probably the least glamorous, the least photographable. Unlike those first wobbly steps, it's something that happens gradually. I honestly don't know what your first sentence was. I just know that all of a sudden, we are starting to have conversations. I ask you what you had for breakfast, and you say "Cream of Week." It doesn't sound like much, but it is only in the past few weeks that I've been able to ask you a question and, at least sometimes, get a coherent response. I am talking with my daughter for the first time.
Gone are the days when you were happy to simply name what you saw: doggie, kitty cat, duck, ball. I now have a child who walks outside, looks skyward and squeals, "I see a bird! Dere's anulla (another) bird! Look at that bird!" Who walks into the bathroom, examines the dirty floor and proclaims, " Look at all the hee-ars (hairs)!" Who stands up on my bed and scolds herself, "Careful. No, no fall off da bed." Who walks out the back door holding my keys and says, earnestly, "I'm a go bye-bye in da car." Who gleefully runs into the Baskin Robbins shouting, "I'm a eat it. I'm a eat da ah-cream!"
Your words don't quite give me a window into your deepest thoughts. You have yet to tell me, "Mommy, I'm cranky today because I'm worried about global warming." But they do let me know what you see, what sticks out to you as important. I know, for instance, that it was the witch and the black cat that made the biggest impression on Halloween. I know that you are always looking for the moon, as I frequently hear your gleeful shout from the backseat, "There's da moon!" I know that you often notice things I don't even see, such as the single leaf lying on the driveway next to our car. "That's a leaf in da ground," you said one morning. "Hi leaf," you said, waving. And then, as I loaded you into your seat and shut the door, "Bye leaf." It seems to be the natural world that most draws your attention, the moon and the stars, the autumn leaves falling, the clouds and birds, the flowers and butterflies. The other day, I pointed out a camellia bush bursting with white blooms. After shoving your nose into a flower, you looked at the petals scattered beneath and said, "Oh, flower broken."
You have never had trouble making your displeasure known, but now you are now finding words to express it. "That's ew," you told me as you handed me a half-chewed brussel sprout at Thanksgiving dinner. "No wipe my butt," you yell as I prepare to change your diaper. "No like it," has become your frequent mantra, when we cover the baby wrong or pick out the wrong clothes or try to get you to eat curried lentils. A couple weeks ago, after singing several rounds of Wheels On The
Bus, you decided you wanted to read a book on your own. You shooed me
away, ""I'm a read a book. Bye bye. (Waving) Move on back."
Watching you master language is an amazing privilege. You are willing to attempt "cock-a-doodle-doo" again and again, even if
it always comes out "cotta-kuda-koodle." I know you will keep working
until you get it right.I am stunned when I think about how far you've come in two years and three months, just with instinct and determination and the willingness to try and fail and try again.I hope you will always remember that that's all it takes, that everything you want is within reach.
Love,
Mommy