Dear Jack,

Today you are 19 months old. We spent a good part of the day in the snow. We awoke this morning to 6" and it snowed for another four or five hours. You were unsure about playing at first, but when I started hopping around, you quickly joined in. We had a hard time getting you inside.

In your nineteeth month, you've added lots of words and a few sentences to your vocabulary. Here's a partial list of what you've been saying these days:

"hock" = hug
"stock" = stuck
"hop" = help
"ah-wool" = owl
"hosh" = house
"birt" = bird
"bah-bee" = baby
"fwah-ball"= football
"muckee" = monkey
"ah-peen" = airplane
"twee" = tree
"too-bursh" = toothbrush
"wah-TUR" = water
"ah-dun" = all done
"nah-dun" = not done

There are so many more! Your words are incredible. You can identify most of the pictures in your books.

You've starting saying "I coming!" and "I got it!" Sometimes you say "I got ____" (ball, shoe, milk). You like to hide things, like your toothbrush, and say "Where toobursh?" then, "I got toobursh!" You hide yourself and start calling "Da-ack? Da-ack!" When we say "Where's Jack?" you pop out, grinning. You point at things and ask "Wha call?" which I've determined means "what is that called?" You cup your hand to your ear when you hear a distant noise and say "What soun?" You amaze me daily, even hourly.

Your dad says I won't always love this, but when even when I'm playing with you, if you want to get my attention, you excitedly shout "Mom! Mom! Mom!" and wait until I say "Yes?" then tell me in your own words something VERY important. Maybe your dad is right, but I think a part of me will always welcome this. There may, in fact, be a time when I wish you would talk to me. Getting ahead of myself again.

It's hard not to get ahead of myself, especially this month. Day by day a little more "baby" slips away as you grow into a little boy. You can identify a few letters by sight - O, T, P, and love to say "seben et NAHN tea-in" Nine is your favorite number, it seems, and you're getting your Southern accent from Daddy.

At your 18-month check-up, you were 34.5 inches tall and 30 lbs. You're still a big boy. Your new shoes are 8.5 wide. I got the only style in that size that had velcro. I still need velcro! We'll see how long that lasts. Speaking of check-ups, you screamed from the time we entered the exam room until the time we left. I brought an Elmo puppet for the doc, and she got you laughing for a minute, but as soon as she wielded the stethoscope, more screaming.

You hate to be corraled, or restrained, or even to lie down on your back. This makes diapering you a challenge. We have a little potty for you, and a few weeks ago you walked over to it and said "Pot-tay!" That morning and a few more since then, you used the little potty successfully. It's still subject to your whim. I'm not discouraging you, but I'm not taking an active role just yet. I don't think you're quite ready, but it's good that you are interested.

This has been one of those long months. I'm tired, of course, but the feeling comes more from realizing how much has happened since the last letter. We had a hard month and lost two special people who loved you very much. I got sick and struggled in a lot of ways to learn how to mother when I'm not healthy. Mothering you is a privilege and a challenge and even when I am beyond fatigued, I feel lucky. Nothing about you is easy. You're not that kid. My days are very physical, intense, and feel hard-won most of the time. It is easy to love you, though. You have a wonderful sense of humor and a truly sweet nature.

Periodically you'll run to me and say "hock!" as I open my arms. I love hocking you, and I always will.

Love,

Mama

p.s. Spaghetti Head