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.

Dear Jack,

Today you are 13 months + 1 day old. This is the first time I've been late with your letter, but it probably won't be the last. I spent yesterday evening writing an exhaustive account of your day - something new I'm trying. But it was exhausting and exhaustive, and I decided it was probably only interesting to me. So here we are, and here is your letter.

Your thirteenth month started with your first birthday party. What a great day! We rented a picnic shelter at a nearby park and so many of our friends and yours came by to celebrate with you. Your grandparents came from Cheraw, and your uncle and cousins were here from Florida. You were sweaty and red-faced the entire time, and ate plenty of dirt before you had your first taste of cake. I think you were a little put off by the frosting on your fingers at first, but once you tasted a bit, you were all smiles. You smashed the tiny cake I baked to pieces and got us both covered in all that goodness. I was disorganized and a little frantic, but I think a good time was had by everyone. It was a good day.


We went to a pool playdate at Sandi's neighborhood, so you got your first taste of a larger body of water. You loved it! You kicked your legs and I even dunked you once or twice. You're a water baby through and through. I was relieved, since we were headed to the beach a couple of weeks later. We rented a lovely beach house with the Daniels family on St. Augustine Beach. The first time we walked onto the sand, you headed straight for the water, no fear and no hesitation. After you tumbled and got a mouthful of salt water, you were a little less courageous, but you kept running toward the water. You'd turn around when you noticed a wave coming, or reach up to be held. By the next day, you were back to running headlong toward the shore.


You started clapping a lot this month, and sometimes you get so excited that you scare yourself. You don't do anything small, even clapping. You got two more teeth last month, for a grand total of eight. I still haven't cut your hair, but it's pretty awesome. I think about trimming the back, and maybe I will this month. I like how it sticks out over your ears. You seem to have grown a good bit since your appointment at the beginning of June. Your shoes will be too small soon. Jason Daniels nicknamed you "Chubs" and called you Captain Caveman and Butterball. Your belly is a thing of beauty!

Here are a few things I've heard in your presence over the last few weeks:
"Oh, look at them eyes! Some girl's gonna snatch him up!" (old lady at the market)
"He's gonna be bigger than you, man." (man behind us in line, to your dad)
"That's a might fine lookin' fella." (old man behind in the produce section)
"He has no fear, does he?" (several mamas at a playdate)
"He cracks me up!" (another mama as you walked around naked at said playdate)
You're still popular with friends and strangers alike, and I still feel like part of your entourage.

It's not all easy, for sure. You are strong-willed and physically so strong and fast. I have to be very creative to get a diaper on you these days. You've started thrusting your arms straight up to wiggle out of my arms. For now I can still pick you up and wrangle you, but those days are numbered. You push every button you can find, and climb anything you can. I find myself shouting STOP a hundred times a day. It worked for a while, but I can see the effectiveness waning. I will keep trying. That's my job.

I feel in some ways that this last month was as long as your first year. A friend told me (much more eloquently) last week that God gives children the parents they need. We agreed that a more rigid upbringing would surely have broken your spirit. If that is God's grace for you, through me, I am honored.

I know God is supplying me with daily grace to be your mother. The joy is boundless, but the energy is metered in a way that sometimes amazes me. I have enough for the next step. My daily bread. There is a symmetry and reciprocity to it that maybe only I can appreciate. It may mean that our house is always a mess and I dream up projects that I won't complete for years, but I'm excited to be raising you up.

I love you, little man.

Mama

Cake face.

Dear Jack,

Today you are one. year. old. This time last year I was pushing with all my might through a cloud of fear and fatigue. To say that your birth was difficult doesn't encompass the experience. After 40 hours of labor, you were delivered through an incision in my abdomen as I shook behind a blue curtain. Normally, I'd be thankful for the blurry recollection of a painful time, but I'm still grieving the loss of those first precious moments with you. While I've celebrated your birth today, I admit that loss has been on my mind.

My dear son, walking forward while looking back can be foolish. I've tried hard to turn my head, and lately I have begun to feel that one day I will be at peace with the way you came into this world. There's a glimmer. It helps that you keep my focus. You're not that tiny baby anymore, and I'm not that exhausted, wounded new mama.

In your twelfth month, you really got the hang of walking. You're still top heavy, and lose your balance all the time. Lately, though, you've learned to catch and correct yourself. You pivot, turn, and back up. You push up on your own and have mostly given up crawling. I watched you today, watching some older girls chase each other at top speed. It was so clear that you wanted to do what they were doing. I loved to see that look of wonder, but I said a small prayer of thanks that you aren't running. Yet.

All your charm, charisma, and humor has exploded. You truly are such a fun kid. Your strong will means you can be frustratingly stubborn, and hard to distract. Angry when I get in the way of what you want. You've started yelling "DOP!" But you have a switch you can flip in an instant and all of a sudden you're this delightful clown, hamming it up for whatever audience you face. I've called you mercurial several times in the last few weeks. I suppose I could have predicted this with your "criling" when you were just a wee one. I know that this will of yours may continue to frustrate me, but I also know that it will serve you well in life. Especially if you can set it aside long enough to make someone smile.

No surprise here, but you're more and more beautiful each day. Your hair is lightening up as we spend time outside, and despite the sunscreen I religiously apply, your arms and legs are bronzing. I was all but ready to cut your hair last week, but now I think I'll wait. It's long and wispy and often Doc-Brown-crazy, but in some way it suits you. Your grin is quite toothy now. You've got all four teeth across the top (in varying stages of growth) and the two front teeth on the bottom. One of your favorite things to do is brush your teeth! We do this together each night. You wiggle the toothbrush up and down like I do. We got your first pair of real shoes last month, 6 1/2 extra wide. Big foot!

The evolution of your dance is truly a sight. I am still working on capturing it on video. When you hear any regular beat, you starting dropping your knees and bouncing. After about ten bounces, you quickly flap your hands up and down. It's very controlled now, and you keep a serious face until we applaud, when you burst into a smile. It seems like it never gets old to you, and it really never gets old for your dad and me. Today a local news crew came to our cloth diaper meeting, and your dance moves made it on camera! I may have to call the station and ask for a copy.

At one year, you're a big, beautiful, strong, determined boy. I am so excited about what is in store for you. As I wrote you letters before you were born, I imagined great things for you, but I couldn't imagine anything like what I see now that I know you. I am so proud of all that you are. You are precious, and you are mine.

With all the love I can give on your first birthday,

Mama

a year in pictures