Seventeen Prime Months

Little Bear,

You should know that your mom is obsessed with prime numbers.  I used to have an excel sheet that contained all the prime numbers up to 10,000,000.  Well, up to 9,999,991 if you want to get technical.  So I get pretty excited whenever you’re a “prime age.”  By the time you actually read these letters you will have realized the enormity of the nerd factor in our household.  HUGE.

Today, you are seventeen (prime) months old.  I can’t believe it.  You are growing and changing so fast, it takes my breath away.  You will always be my baby, but there is no longer anything ‘baby’ about you.  You are ALL BOY now.  Your giant personality and sense of fun far outweigh the fact that you’re breaking my heart every day by growing up.  It’s hard to believe, but you’re even more fun today than you were yesterday.  I can say that every day.  Except when you’re pitching one of your fits.  That’s not as much fun, but I admire your commitment.

Your face has changed, you look big in your crib and you want to do everything by yourself.  You point out each and every truck in a ten mile radius and you love books (YES! Reading is sexy).  You’ve decorated our walls with pencil and crayon masterpieces, the caregivers at daycare nicknamed you the Quiet Menace, you lick the windows at music class and I’m surprised you still have eyes because you like to sneak up on the cat and body slam her.  

You are calculating.  You wait until we turn our backs before you unleash your trademark destruction.  To steal a term from a friend, you are a Viking.  I guess that’s fair since your mom is a pirate. 

You love walking backward until you hit a wall.  It makes you grin.  But you save your biggest eye-squinched-shut-and-showing-off-your-molars grin for your dad when he stares at you and flares his nostrils at record-breaking speed.  Who wouldn’t think that was funny? 

Little Bear, you have the best laugh in the world.  At night, when we get you ready for bed we tickle you, and play with your toes and give you zerberts on your belly and you laugh and giggle and chortle.  IT IS ADDICTING.  Before we know it, we have you too riled up to go to bed and have to start the whole process over. 

You are communicating more and have long conversations with the turtle.  Some of you words:  cracker, car, go, kitty, cat, dog, uh-oh, mama, daddy, no, turtle, me-me (binky), ba-ba (bottle), shoe, sock, hot, that, mama, daddy, hi, bye-bye, truck.  I’m sure I missed some, but I tried to make a list because the doctor always asks how many words you know and then I feel inadequate because I JUST DON’T KNOW.  But how is that even remotely as important as knowing how to make you laugh?

Every day we have the same mind-numbing conversation over and over again.

YOU:  Hi.

ME:  Hi Roper.

YOU:  Hiiiiii!

ME:  Hi!

YOU:  Hi Daddy.

ME:  I’m Mama.

YOU: Mommeee!

ME: Yes love?

YOU: Hi.

ME. Hi Roper.

Rinse and Repeat. Over and over and over again.

Roper, you are an amazing little boy.  Normal and average in every way, but still a miracle to us.  When you stand in the middle of the living room with your hands in your pockets and your belly sticking out, I just want to grab hold of you and never let go.  But you’re too busy exploring and learning and destructing.  I love that.  I love you.  Here’s to seventeen months on this wild ride – hold on tight!

Love,

Your Mama

Did mention that we took you skiing?  You rock!