Dear Jack, my little Wonder,

Today you are 20 months old. You're taking one of your much-appreciated and long overdue extended naps. You're averaging an hour and half. You've even slept over two hours a couple of times. For my sleep-fighting catnapper, this is a welcome development. You need this rest. You wake up like daddy, though, a little grouchy and put out. As soon as you're fully awake, though, the show begins. You're so observant and now you're mimicking not only our words, but our mannerisms. You duplicate dances you see on television. Here are my favorites from the last month:

"I BROKE it!" (with your hand on your forehead in distress)
"Gimme a break."
"Jo-ohn! Jo-ohn! Daddy John!"

When I put food on your plate, or hand you a book, you sweetly say "Yelcome, Mommy." I think you are actually thanking me. Truly, my heart melts each time. I'm glad you're picking up your good manners early, and at home. This will take you far in life, farther than you may recognize until much later. Your dad is polite, and it's one of the first things I noticed about him.

Every day, it seems, you become confident with new knowledge. You definitely know the letters O, T, P, S, Q, A, B and M. You recognize 3, 5, 7, 8, 9, and 10. You know and can name a triangle and a circle. You know purple, orange, and green with certainty. You're pretty good with blue and red. Yellow is a rare treat. You pull your favorite books from the shelves and say their names or a particular part that you like. One of your Sesame Street books has a page where Oscar the Grouch says, "Yucky!" You pull that book down and say "Mommy! Yucky! Yucky!" You pronounce it with disgust, just like Oscar would.

You've taken me by the hand, saying, "C'mon, Mommy. Naptime. Schweepy." You handed me a toy that was turned off and said "Won't work." You ran down the hallway toward me, pointing to your diaper and saying "Pee pee coming!" Every day, for much of the day, I marvel at you. You've always been so vocal, then verbal, but now you talk. You talk! You're picking things up so quickly.

You still prefer to be outside. It's been a little rough keeping up with you these days, but I'm doing my best. For this reason, I look so forward to spring. When we're inside for too long, we start butting heads. I won't use the alliterative description for kids your age, but I hope that we are getting some of this out of your system early. Your birthday is still a few months away. You are pushing boundaries. You don't know how to share. Well, you like to say "Share." or "Share, peese." before taking something from me. You lose your cool when you're with other kids your age. You love older kids, though. I can almost see your struggles to understand the situation you're in, the moment when you decide to give up and give in to your emotional response. It's hard being a toddler!

I know that each age will come with it's own challenges, but for each challenge, there is a gift. Your sweet kisses. You offer them freely. You make sure that if you give Daddy a kiss, there is one for me, too. One day last week, you were sitting on my lap when Gram came to pick you up. She stood in the doorway and you pointed to each of us, saying "This is Jack! This is Gram! This is Mommy!"

I've been thinking some about regret lately. I hope you don't have too many regrets when you're my age, but surely you'll have some. When I look at you, Jack, I realize that if any of the big things, or even a couple of the small things in my life had been different, you wouldn't be here. You're a grace I'm given to help me understand why things have happened or to accept their happening.

It's still an adventure being your mom.

Love,

Mama

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

18 months - Guest Post!

Dear Jack,
Your mama is my daughter. That won’t make sense for awhile. As intelligent as you are, you may not fully grasp that for years and perhaps it will take having a wee one of your own to even begin to understand. She wanted me to write all about you on your one-and-a-half-year birthday. I want to write about Mama.

It used to be that you would cry after 20 minutes without her. You can go longer now but awaken from a nap and she is gone? You will go from room to room with a pitiful, plaintive cry. Sometimes you will act as if you are in grave mourning and nothing will work to get you to understand that she has merely run an errand and will be back soon. You are more than just a ‘mama’s boy,’ you are my daughter’s boy.

Mama gave her all to get you into the world and you held back, strong and stubborn even before you took your first breath. I know now that you held onto one of her ribs just as resolutely as you hang onto the steering wheel of my car and refuse to budge. I watched my daughter breathe through contractions, change positions, give her absolute all in trying to push you out into our world and then ask what else could she do when you would not comply. She had waited for you for so long and even now you still make her wait. You were worth it at birth and you are worth it now.

Son, meet your Mama. She is an amazing person. I tell people that she is beautiful inside and out. It’s true. Yet, she wonders if she is doing what is right by you. She wonders what your future will be. She wonders and marvels at your progressive dancing and those laughing eyes. Mama sweetens my heart when she looks at you with such touching tenderness.

Mama will be your advocate when you need her. She will be your partner in discovering the wonderful world God has created. She will kiss your aches and soothe your fears. She will tickle you, adore you, cherish your very breath.

How do I know this?

I have already seen it!

It is fact, not fiction. I don’t have to create a scenario in which you play the protagonist, swaggering into life, “I’m Jack Ballard.” No, you are the swagger, you are the up-tilted face with my Dad’s dimpled chin, gazing with adoration at the one who bore you and beheld you. Mama has been there through tired tears and incredible smiles that lit up an already sunny day. I have felt honored to watch you two, as if I was watching a sacred scene and held my breath to contain it.

I told Mama two months ago that you were just the child she needed: strong, opinionated, funny, smart. Sometimes that is hard to believe, like back when you only took 30 minute naps day after day...after day…and I would see the dark circles under my daughter’s eyes. For whatever reason, there is a need for you to be quick and strong and funny and smart.

By the way, I had a baby 30 years ago. I got a girl who preferred my presence to all others. Tia Khelen would say, “K-E, let’s go play upstairs.” And she would reply, “I want to stay with Mama.” Your mama would stand by me while I did the dishes, pulled out the dry clothes, or swept the back steps. So I understand when you clasp her tightly even as you kick your feet in delight at my stepping up onto your porch to whisk you away from her. I understand that Mama is all you prefer--that in your world there are only two people: Mama and Not-Mama.

Even so, I do look forward to the day when you will spend the night with Pop and me. We will giggle under the covers and shine flashlights all around. Then we’ll read as many books as you select until I fall asleep reading them to you.

Someday, in the middle of teenage trauma you may say to Mama, as she said to me, “You don’t really care about me.” Perhaps she will hand you these letters she regularly writes. Letters that contain your history, a love story.

I love your mama. I love you, too. I love your daddy. Thank you, Jack, for letting me into your world and helping me rediscover what life looks like 34 inches above ground. Thank you, Daughter, for letting me into your world and helping me remember. I love observing the terrible love you share with your son, born of your body, succored intensely, valued to his very core.

It is an honor to be your mother, Katy. It is an honor to be your son’s Gram, the silver-haired one with the rectangular black face, chronicling his life in the best way I know how. Thank you. With love, Your Mama/Your Gram


P. S. to all Not-Mamas out there: I am actually Jack’s ‘Grum.’ He has made some amazing progress in speaking English instead of Mandarin Chinese. He actually speaks three languages now, if you count Southern English. He’s the only person I’ve ever heard turn the compound word ‘playground’ into four syllables. Just the other day he was at my house and he asked me, “What cul?” and pointed to a red hat in a book. I said, “Red” and he put a red block on his head and said, “Hat.” And it’s not just lions, and tigers, and bears, anymore, Jack’s added turtle, biders (they have 8 legs), ‘nakes, and an absolutely smile-making monkey imitation. Every time he comes to our house to play, he automatically gives me my favorite giraffes (how did he know?) while he digs and digs for the tiger, growling while he searches. The thing that makes me laugh lately is his, “Oh, nooooo!” with pursed lips and brows drawn downward. He will have the ‘I-think-you-are-crazy-Grum’ itty bitty smile on his face when I pretend to feed the toy animals but I have also seen him cook delicious meals for me, stirring the pots while saying, “Hot” and blowing on the ‘food’ so I won’t burn my tongue. Love it! I could go on and on, it’s a grandparent’s prerogative, but perhaps Mama wants to add a comment or two.

Dear Jack,

Today you are 17 months old. I'm going to go a little off-script this month, but before I do, here are some highlights from the last month:

Your first sentence? "Not done."
You are 34" tall - almost a yardstick.
You can jump with two feet and you attempt to skip.
With you dressed as the cutest Charlie Chaplin ever, we won the costume contest at the library.
You have started to tickle me, saying "tickatickaticka" while you do.
You say "Ooooohhhh Noooooooooooo" and it's adorable.
I can translate some of your dialect now. "Duh-Tuh" is firetruck.
All four of your first molars have crested through and your canine teeth are sometimes swollen looking.
You make a new friend every time we go to the park.

There is something I want to tell you now, about me. I don't know when you'll read these letters, but I hope one day you will. I don't feel like I am painting an overly-rosy portait of life as a first-time mom on this blog, but I struggle more than these letters probably portray. I don't know how my health will be as you grow. More and more these days, I feel anger and sadness about my disease. I have chosen to shoulder most of the load of your care and your growth. I don't regret it. And I don't want to regret it. Here is the truth: I don't know how to take care of myself. I know how to take care of other people and I am happy when I have the opportunity to do so. That's why, in so many ways, being your mom is the ultimate fulfillment for me. But it's been easy to fall into denial about my health, to accept a status quo of tired-as-normal. If it were that simple, my denial could last. But it's not. It won't always be.

I want you to take a lesson from me now, because I don't know if the mom you know later in life will tell you this: help other people as much as you can, but accept help. Learn how to love yourself the way you love other people. Be grateful for the blessing of your strong, beautiful body, but protect it and treat it well. Your mom is trying to learn these things a little late and the stakes are high.

If parents want better for their kids, this is my quest for you. Learn from me. I am learning to love myself even if I can't always do the things I want to do. If I can't be everything. I am learning to believe people love me regardless of what I do, for who I am.

I hope that in my learning, I can show you that my love for you is truly unconditional.


Mama

Dear Jack, my little helper,

Today you are 16 months and two days old. My good intentions just didn't quite cut it this month, but here I am, and here is your letter.

The past month has been one of those long months, not because of fatigue (though that is there) or boredom (not a chance), but because you have changed SO much in the past thirty days. Everyday, it seems, brings a new skill, or habit, or word, or expression. I can almost see the connections your brain is making. It's exciting!Communication has been at the forefront this month. A few weeks ago you started really forceful communication in your own dialect. "Wee-doo-wee-doo-wee" is one of my favorites. You look at me with earnest determination and repeat a bit of jibberish several times. But it's not jibberish, is it? You seem to know exactly what you are saying. Sometimes I know, too, but more often I nod and look concerned. You ramped up the sign language in the last few weeks two. Your rare "please" has become perfunctory, and over the last week you started signing "more" and "please" in succession. How polite of you! You have thrown me a "thank you" a couple of times. You also started saying "NO!", but it's more like "noooooooowww." It's cute and it's you. We'll see how long that lasts.

You like to mimic what we say, but you aren't quite a parrot. Water is "Wa-wer" and apple is "Aah! Oh!" Your receptive language is amazing. In a Sesame Street book we have, you point to each character when asked. You get Bert and Big Bird mixed up, but I'll cut you some slack. You can follow directions (if you want to) and seem eager to please. I've become more and more aware that your listening ears are collecting all of my words. What a responsibility (and privilege)!

All day long you are pulling things out of drawers and cabinets, folded clothes from baskets, warm clothes from the dryer, dirty clothes from your hamper. You're quick to put things back when I ask you to. More helping! You bring me things throughout the day, too. Sometimes toys. Especially books you want me to read. You play in the kitchen, stirring a spoon in a bowl, or reaching up with a spatula to "cook" on the stove top. You feed me imaginary spoonfuls!

You're still a flirt, but you've developed this coy response to returned affections. You hang your head and glance up through your long lashes as if to say, "Who me? Cute?" Heartbreaker! You blow kisses with gusto and you spontaneously give hugs and kisses now. These, my son, are the balm for my soul. We were visiting our friend Whitt at her dance studio last week and you had your eyes trained on a ballerina. She was about four years old and nearly twice your height, but you had to have your hug and kiss. We may have to help tone down your amorous advances. I've found myself calling you "Bruiser" more than a few times this month. You've gotten scrapes, cuts, blackeyes, bruises, and bites. You are taking full advantage of your growing agility. You can climb onto our (high) bed now, and you can fall off. You climb onto the couch and scoot yourself onto the coffee table. You take advantage of a chair left pulled out from the table in the kitchen and you've climbed all the way up to the tabletop. I'm glad we have heavy metal chairs that you haven't (yet) figured out how to move on your own. You climb out of the bath now when you are ready (even if we're not). You crash and bang all day long. You've started bring your boo-boos to me for a kiss. All better! If only my kisses could protect and heal you forever.

You don't seem to have grown much over the last month. You may be a little heavier and your feet a little bigger. Most of the change is happening in your mouth! You had a particularly rough night last week then slept hard. In the morning, the tips of two top molars had broken through. It's just the beginning for those big teeth. I hope they come in quickly. You seem to be extra drooly now. Overall, though, you are a pretty easy teether, molar man.We took a family trip up to Jones Gap on Saturday. You didn't last long on the trail, but I can't blame you. There were so many rocks to try and eat! Sticks galore! Leaves! It is a toddler's wonderland.Days like that one leave me so excited for what's in store. Hiking, swimming, camping. Long days of doing nothing but enjoying God's creation. I admit that I need to see the world through your eyes sometimes, son. Fresh and full of possibility. Wonder. Gratitude. I may not always be ready for every adventure, but I will do my best to keep up with you.

I love you so very much,

Mama

Dear Jack,

Today you are 15 months old. I'm still rocking and nursing you to sleep and even though at times I think maybe we should transition, I am fiercely protective of those moments. Even the long, drawn out, please-for-the-love-of-all-that-is-good-will-you-just-close-your-eyes moments. Moments when I can hold you close and smell your breath and hear you sigh. I think these are the things I will recall ten years from now, not the things like you biting my clavicle.

This month is a blur for the most part, but as I've tried to remember some of the things that have happened, I keep thinking of all the new ways you entertain us. You have taken peekaboo to a new level and like to hide behind us and jump out. Instead of "boo," you say "DUH!" You give hugs spontaneously (and with a little direction)and have started to comply when I ask you to close your mouth before you give me a kiss. You are a trickster and love to make people laugh. You seem to know when you've done a good job and you'll start the applause that you're sure is going to erupt from your audience at any moment.

About a week ago, you started tap dancing. Yes, your personal progression through the various genres of dance has amazed your mom. You stood up in the bathtub after the water had drained one night and started tap-tap-tapping. It's a little more Michael Flatley than Gene Kelly, but you wear a huge grin all the while. Born to dance, it seems. Not so much like either of your parents in that department.

You've really started moving with a lot of grace. You squat amazing well and keep your balance as you teeter on the edge of chairs, stools, toys. It seems pointless to try and keep you on the ground at all times. If it is there, you will climb it. No matter what it is. You sometimes jump when you are dancing and I think it surprises you. When you try to jump on purpose, you look like a penguin, flapping wings that will never take you off the ground.

The word "babble" doesn't really describe what you do. You're one of the kids with your own language. You will state something with such force, and even repeat yourself at times. I usually don't know what you are saying. You certainly do. You are parroting more of our words lately and your receptive language is great. You know what so many things are, and you know who people are in pictures and in person. I can see you staring at lips and trying to mimic what you see. Sometimes you get the vowel sounds right and leave the consonants for another time.

This month I cut your hair. I had immediate pangs of regret. Your little mullet and wings are gone! The heart aches. Now, though, the shorter 'do is you. You look like a boy now. There is still some baby there, in your cheeks and the chub of your wrists, but your legs are long and muscular and your neck is emerging strong. Your shoe size is seven! You're wearing 2T clothes. Such a big boy.

You have had some of your worst separation anxiety over the last month, but you also started doing a lot more on your own. "Reading" books in the corner. Playing with your bath toys. Sliding down slides.


I see how things are changing so fast and I know your independence is blossoming. I don't need to kick you out of the nest. But I also won't clip your wings. I want you to remain an adventurer and an explorer. I want you to continue to try and fail and try again. I want you to succeed.

I want you to know, always, always, that I will be here for you.

Mama

p.s. always.

Dear Jack,

Today you are 14 months old. You are a firecracker. A blast of light and sound. A beautiful, raucous symphony. You live at the intersection of disaster and discovery. You push hard against your boundaries. You smile big and laugh bigger. You reach as high as you can and higher than you can. You fall and cry. You fall and laugh. You bounce back. You run fast. You bite hard.

This is a love letter to a person who has tested the limits of our new love for the last thirty days.

This month, you have started talking a lot. You say "Koo-kah" which means cookie or cracker. You say "Goh-Goh" when you see the goldfish in your favorite book. You sing along with whatever I'm singing with your chorus of "Dah," "Dee," and "Doh." You bang pots and pans and kettles and boxes with rhythmic persistence. Your dancing continues to evolve and now includes a right toe tap and a "sprinkler" move. Music seems to be part of your destiny, sweet son.

Your memory amazes me at times. You can't be distracted. You had diaper rash for a few days which made bathtime uncomfortable, and for five or six days after that you screamed at the word "bath" and screamed the entire time you were in it. I finally enticed you back to your favorite time of day with a game of Fishketball. Now you're back to splashing around joyfully.



You have been particularly clingy for the last couple of weeks. You will cry endlessly when I'm gone. This makes it hard to leave. You and I both need to get better about that. I need to hear that this is normal and that I haven't done something wrong, but at times I feel like we've taken an unfortunate misstep. Other times I see how bright and happy you are, and how much you love to learn and entertain, and I know everything is right. The important things anyway.

I love you when it's not easy. I love you through conflicting instincts of self-preservation and maternal protection. I love you for challenging me and growing me and pushing me, and I love you for resting in me and teaching me to rest.

But give me a break sometimes. Please?

Mama.