Dear Anna,
Today you are eighteen months old. That’s a year and a half – we’re halfway to two already since your birthday, which doesn’t seem like it was all that long ago! You have 10 teeth now: two of your molars have poked through. Hey, if you get a couple more teeth in soon I might not need to cut your food into such teeny-tiny pieces anymore!
Your favorite words and your obsessions are one and the same. You love Dora. I cannot stress this enough; love may not even be a strong enough word. Dora, Boots, Backpack…they’re practically all you talk about. Also, Elmo. I really, truly don’t understand the appeal, but you do love that furry red squeaky monster. Sigh. It causes you fits of baby rage that I won’t let you watch unlimited amounts of Dora and Sesame Street daily, but as I’ve already told you many, many times, I’m the meanest Mommy you’re ever going to have, so you’ll just have to learn to deal with it.
When you’re not begging for “mo’ Do-la”, you’ve been enjoying playing with the Potato Head set you got for Christmas, and stacking things like blocks and cups. You also really love to color, although you have the words crayon and paper mixed up for some reason. The other day I got out the sticker box, and you and Carrie spent the better part of an hour sticking stickers all over construction paper. Somehow it didn’t seem to make a dent in the sticker collection, either…
You’re still napping and sleeping well, and are especially loving the new toddler pillow you got for Christmas. It has monkeys, stars and moons on it. As long as you have your pillow, your blanket, your quilt, your dolly, your baby, your Minnie, your aquarium, and your lullaby CD, you are all set at night.
So. You’re eighteen months old now. Which means, you are a Big Girl. And Big Girls don’t sit in a high chair anymore. Big Girls also will not be carried up or down stairs, will not be fed by anyone else in any manner, and must be treated equally to the big sister. I had forgotten how interesting eighteen months could be. Luckily, Big Girls are also sweet and funny and adorable, so I think we’ll both survive. At least until nineteen months, anyway!
Love, Mommy