Well, you’re two. You were two two weeks ago, and you’ve been twenty-two and twenty-three months, but you so rarely let me get on the computer to write that I haven’t written you a newsletter. Bad mummy.

Anyway… You talk. It’s amazing. You have more than 600 words at the last count (a few weeks ago, and Daddy and I have stopped counting!). You tell me about boats that go on the sea and cars that go broom! and beep! and how slow drivers in front of us need to “get out way!”. You told Daddy and I “I ride bee an’ go see pa an’ pa!” (I’ll ride the bee to go and see Grandma and Grandpa!”). You know your colours and shapes, you can count to five if the mood takes you (which is rarely, but I know you can do it now) and you are very good at getting your point across. Your favourite word is currently “Mine!” and it mostly applies to things that aren’t- “Mine pone!” is actually mummy’s, “mine car!” is, guess what, actually Mummy’s car, and “mine BIG bed!” is actually mine, too.

You like food! This is a recent breakthrough. You’ve gone from being icky about textures and
very selective about what you’ll eat to being willing to try everything (including pasta! I nearly cried…). You seem to be growing out of the cows’ milk allergy too and can now tolerate cheese; however, we haven’t dared try you on raw cows’ milk and I doubt you’d drink it anyway, goats’ milk is so much nicer! You like clementines and grapes and broccoli and mushrooms and raisins and nuts, you like beans, you like chilli, you like hummous. You don’t mind getting messy and you seem to enjoy feeding yourself now- something you haven’t done in a very, very long time. Your capacity to learn new things terrifies me. You’ve been working the DVD player and TV for quite some time now- you also know how to find CBeebies (on our TV, and on Nana and Grandads’ too), find Shaun The Sheep, Thomas, and Postman Pat on my iPhone. You haven’t yet figured out the iPad, but that’s because I haven’t let you near it for long enough. I give it five minutes after you get your sticky fingers on it…

You can run, you can jump, you can climb. You hurl yourself around with aplomb. We know you’ve actually hurt yourself if you cry when you fall over, and you’ve sustained some fantastic black eyes.

You like to be cuddled to sleep, or feed to sleep, or fall asleep in your bed- it depends on how the mood takes you.  Tonight you told me “Goodnight mum, I sleep bed now!”, but I know that tomorrow or the next day you’ll crash out on me after five minutes.  (As far as I know it’s five minutes, I like these sleepy cuddles and I fall asleep before you…)

Did you show off any of the fantastic things you can do at your (belated) two-year check this morning?  Did you?  That would be a NO!  You said about ten words, refused to do colours or numbers, used ONE three-word phrase, and didn’t stand still for long enough to have your height measured, you monkey.

So… happy belated birthday, stinky.  We love you.

Mum and Dad (because Mummy and Daddy are *so* for babies)

Where is he?

He’s completely disappeared!

There he is!

My piss-poor attempts at writing haven’t been finished, never mind published.  My camera is increasingly being left at home, because I can’t carry a 30lb toddler and a 20lb camera bag.  It’s alright, though, ’cause my other hobbies are being neglected too!  I have a pile of shirts and fabric a mile high waiting to be dyed, a list of jewellery orders to finish, and the piano has been gathering dust.

I’ve bought lots of pretty fluff, which I keep meaning to take photos of- I’m in love with Holden’s Landing nappies and Bambooty prints.  David is nowhere near potty-training, so it’ll continue for a while yet!

And here is the heart-meltingly handsome young man who’s stopped me writing anything recently.

More later… maybe!

You’re twenty-one months old, talking, walking, sometimes eating (let’s not go there), and about to start sleeping in a big bed.  I am exhausted.

Love,

Mummy

Are words really necessary here?

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)

This is my entry for Tara’s Gallery at Sticky Fingers.  Why not head over there and have a look at the other entries?

It was only in June last year that my sweet little baby looked like this…

He was all big grey eyes and long whiskers and soft honey-coloured fur, with a squeak that melted your heart.  He snuggled me nonstop.  He was a lovely-mannered kitten, Snowball and Wily kept him well under control, and he was an absolute joy.

And now?

One hulking great teenager, who could eat ten times his bodyweight, who will do anything for food, who brings dead birds and mice inside and leaves them in the bedroom as presents for us.  Admittedly, he’s still a heartbreaker, still a lovely snuggly affectionate cat who likes nothing better than to plonk himself down on my laptop keyboard and present his tummy for a rub while I work.  Snowball still has control over the food bowls and keeps him well in line, and he and Wily have developed the kind of cameraderie that comes from months of being bossed around by, shock horror, a GIRL!

I do miss that sweet little kitten, but I love my stroppy teenage cat even more.  Maybe it’s good preparation for twelve years’ time, when this little monster decides to do the same thing!

Nature is amazing, isn’t it?

Now, I freely admit that this picture makes my skin crawl.  I have a very strong dislike of bugs.  But somehow I still find it amazing that creatures of that size can work together in the way that they do.

Maybe humans have something to learn from it.

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.)

]]> http://mademoisellejones.net/blog/?feed=rss2&p=1021 1 http://mademoisellejones.net/blog/?p=1019 http://mademoisellejones.net/blog/?p=1019#comments Thu, 22 Jul 2010 23:00:42 +0000 Katherine http://mademoisellejones.net/blog/?p=1019 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