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,
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
Dearest David,
Happy half-birthday, smellybum! You’re now officially closer to two than one. We don’t half know it…
You are now, as the health visitor so kindly put it, assertive and single-minded. You know exactly what you want to do, and if you don’t get to do it woe betide the rest of us! Thankfully you can still be distracted relatively easily, but it’s getting harder… I have a feeling it won’t last for much longer. We are still finding ways to prevent tantrums before they happen, but we’ve come to accept that sometimes, they’re pretty much inevitable, because no, you may not have a fourth biscuit. You’ve also learned to whine, which is cute for the first thirty seconds, and then really not. Could we bypass this stage now, please? Ta.
Your speech is amazing. You have an extensive vocabulary, and you’re starting to use sentences. ”Mummy, go car now?” is a favourite, followed by “Look, mummy, cat!”. We’ve accidentally taught you to call BMW drivers something very rude. You shake your head and moan “nononononono!” when I tell you it’s time to come inside, or have your nappy changed, or that it’s time to go to bed. You learn so many new words that I can’t possibly write them all down, and I love being able to have a conversation with you.
Let’s talk about sleep. As of Friday, you seem to have decided to sleep through the night again. You’ve rediscovered the ability to self-settle when you wake up at night, and let me tell you, I don’t miss being up with you until dawn. I’d much rather spend time with you during the day! On Monday you managed to settle yourself to sleep in your cot for the first time in months, after stealing my pillow from my bed! I sat in the bedroom with you, next to the cot, and when you pushed me away I sat on the chair and read a book until you fell asleep. I’ve probably doomed this by writing about it, but I do feel that we’ve turned a corner, and we’re all going to sleep better from now on, which gives us much more energy for playing outside.
You’re still willing to try new foods, although your mouth has been so sore from teething that your food intake is mostly restricted to Quorn/meatballs/sausages with mash/bread and baked beans/frozen peas/sweetcorn, plus fruit bars, fruit pouches, and babybels. We’re keeping a food diary for you as we suspect a cows’ milk intolerance, although I did “forget” on Sunday, when pretty much all you ate was chocolate cake. I do worry about cutting cows’ milk out entirely, as you currently won’t eat vegetables or pasta unless they’re covered in cheese. We may also have accidentally let you discover a taste for McDonalds whilst we were out for the day (there was nowhere else handy to eat): I reassure myself that once in a while doesn’t matter, and the large amount of breastmilk you’re consuming makes up for the odd meal of fast food. Or cake mix.
You’re obsessed with Postman Pat. Everything is “Po PA!”. We have the eighties episodes on video, the nineties episodes on DVD, and both new Special Delivery Service DVDs. There’s a new one coming out in August, and I can’t WAIT, if only because we’ve seen every single episode a hundred times already and it’ll be good to add some variety to your viewing. If I dare to put something else on the DVD player in the car, it’s “No, Po PA!”. When the postman pulled up alongside us in his van this morning, you shouted “Hi, Po Pa!”. When you see him coming up the drive, you often run to the front door to say hi.
So, here’s the usual sentimental bit about how I can’t believe you’re growing up so fast and becoming such a little boy already, and damnit, stop doing that.
Love you, stinky.
Mama (as that’s what you seem to have settled on calling me), (and Dad, who will cry as usual)
