Barefoot In The Kitchen

Dearest David,

Last week you turned twenty months old.  Last week!  Shocking, isn’t it, that I’ve left writing your newsletter this late.  I had more pressing things to do… like building brick towers, teaching you to thread beads, drawing, dealing with your demands for more juice (milk!) or another grape… that kind of thing!

We’ve been very sociable this month!  We’ve been out and about at a slingmeet and picnics with various cloth-nappy-using people and had a wonderful time.  I’m relieved to see that you don’t seem to have inherited my social awkwardness, you’re such a friendly and social little boy, and you make friends so easily.  You’re gentle with babies smaller than you (you stroke their hair and say “aaaaah, baby!”) and this has transferred to the way you treat your toys- Tiger now gets carried around wrapped up in a blanket, fed milk, and has his nappy changed regularly.  (He fits a medium Itti.)

You’re so bright, David.  You can do playtray puzzles in five seconds flat; the shape sorter at incredible speed.  You probably use 100+ words now (I can’t keep track, you learn so many every day) and understand everything we say to you.  Whether you choose to do as you’re told is another matter, but at least we know that you’re able to understand!  You love books- story books, word books, books of facts.  You sit with your 100 Words books and name almost everything in them, as if we don’t know what those things are called, and I’m convinced you think we’re stupid.

Your favourite foods this month are grapes and apples and goats’ milk.  And nothing else, apart from the occasional sausage.  The milk must be served pink (Crusha, not Nesquik, because we don’t like companies who push formula in developing countries), although the tiniest splash of it will do- I’m sure you can’t taste it and it’s just a psychological thing.  You also love ice cream, although you’re not allowed to have it any more- cows’ milk is causing you so many problems and I think it’s time for us to push for a dietician’s referral.  You seem to have cottoned onto the whole cows’ milk= tummyache thing and won’t eat cheese on its’ own any more, you clever thing.  Also?  You are never eating Skittles again.  That was an interesting sugar high.

You can climb and run and jump like a pro now.  You’ve even managed to master the big climbing frame with the slide on at the park and frighten the life out of Grandma and Auntie Hester!  You are utterly fearless.  You love to tip cold water over yourself (and Daddy) in the bath, and I’m sure you’d do it to me if I let you play with the tap.

Your hair is getting really rather long.  You hate having it washed, but that might have something to do with your mean mother accidentally washing it with tea tree shampoo and then getting it in your eyes.  Still, I won’t cut it, I won’t bow to pressure to “just run the clippers through it”, because it doesn’t get in your way and I love it.  So there.

It’s time for me to wind up, because it’s late and I have work to do.  I love you, smellybum, and please stop this growing up thing, alright?

Love,

Mummy (and Daddy who’ll cry when he reads this, as usual)

Dearest David,

You’re now nineteen months old.  Woah.

Let’s talk about sleep.  OHMYWORDYOU’RESOMUCHBETTERPLEASESTAYLIKETHISFOREVER.  You toddle off to your cot, kiss the soft toys goodnight and tuck them in, then ask to be tucked in.  You demand a kiss, then tell me to go away.  You turn over, you fall asleep.  What’s not to like?  You sleep anywhere, you’ll fall asleep in the sling and stay asleep there, I can put you down when you’re asleep and know you’ll stay that way for at least a little while.  On Saturday you stayed asleep on the grass in Hyde Park- you’d never have done that before!

When you’re not sleeping, you’re incredibly active.  You climb, you jump, you throw yourself around, and you are utterly fearless.  One of your favourite games is to stand on the sofa until Daddy says “Ready, steady, go!” and then bellyflop onto the sofa.  You can climb to the top of the tall slide in the park, and you throw yourself down at breakneck speed.  Please don’t break anything!

Now that you’re sleeping better, you’re eating better, too.  You ate an apple with the skin on today!  You can demolish half a punnet of grapes.  You love scrambled egg, and omelette, and toast.  You’re prepared to try new things, and you’re getting increasingly better at feeding yourself with your spoon and fork.  You march to the fridge and demand “Juice!” or “cheese!” or “grapes!”, and when you can’t open it by yourself you get so frustrated until we open it for you.  When the fridge is open you grab whatever you wanted and march into the kitchen, looking pleased with yourself.

You talk almost constantly around Daddy and I.  You’re quieter around people you don’t know as well, but aren’t we all?  This is slightly annoying, however, when I’ve been showing off about how well you speak and you refuse to say anything at all, apart from “Bye!” as you’re running away.  You can name every single mode of transport we pass on the road, and several in the sky.  You and I often speak French at home when Daddy isn’t around to laugh at us, and your French is improving at the same rate as mine- rapidly!  You adore your Didou DVD almost as much as Postman Pat, and I find myself thinking in French more often, something I haven’t done since I had to write essays- it’s strange and wonderful at the same time.

So, darling boy, I’ll wind up now (especially as you’re on your second episode of Postman Pat so that I can get this finished.)  I love you, you little monster, and I’m enjoying being your mummy even more than ever.

Love,

Mummy (and Daddy, who’ll cry as usual.)

Dearest David,

Today you turn nineteen months old.  Because I’m is a bit rubbish and didn’t realise this until last night, here’s a photo of you asleep on Nana’s shoulder, and I’ll write you a proper newsletter over the weekend.  Promise.

Love,

Mummy