Dear Carolyn,
I can’t believe how much you’ve changed this month. You’ve started actually singing – maybe not recognizable tunes, but you’re no longer simply reciting the words to songs. You’re sleeping in your toddler bed all the time now, in fact we took your crib down a couple of weeks ago. You can draw people and carrots (don’t ask me why you like to draw carrots, I have no idea), and circles, triangles, and sometimes even squares. I gave you an open cup to drink from the other day, expecting to have to mop up a puddle of water, and you drank the whole thing without spilling a drop. And you’re starting to insist on wearing panties around the house instead of diapers – granted, you’re not quite making it to the potty most of the time, but you’re really trying to get the hang of it all.
You’ve also become…willful is the wrong word, but it’s the best I can come up with. We play chase every day while I try to wrestle you into whatever clothes you’ve picked out. You run away after every meal before I can wash your sticky hands. You’ve discovered that if you wedge yourself into a small enough space, I can’t actually get you out against your will. We’ve been discussing cooperation. Often. And how only little girls who cooperate get to watch Elmo’s Potty Time DVD. I never thought I’d resort to bribery, but I think you’d do almost anything if it meant watching your beloved furry red monster sing about using the potty.
You adore playing in the snow that we’ve finally gotten – although I think you were pretty happy to be using the slide just a week or two ago. You spend hours playing with lacing beads and your kitchen. And just today you spent the entire morning playing with a box big enough for you to lay down in and close the top – first it was a boat, then a car, and at some point you dragged your Elmo chair in there and had a tea party with your babies. I thought you liked your playsilks before, but this month you’ve started using them to be a superhero, a baby bird, and a teacher (you put it on like a cape, only in front of you, and say you’re a teacher). You’ve got a wonderful imagination. Thank you for sharing it with me.
Love, Mommy