Thirty Months

Two and a half is that awkward age. You're not quite two, and you're not quite three. You want to hold onto that innocence of two but are eager for the freedoms that come with three. Freedoms like depositing your poop into a toilet instead of dragging it around with you in a diaper. Can you smell it, Jack? No, not the poop, Jack. The freedom. Three. It's just around the corner.


I am stunned by all the changes we've seen in you since you turned two. At two, so many things were still a challenge to you and your lack of mastery of certain tasks would drive you to the brink of insanity. You wanted to be able to put the shapes in the shape sorter, but your hands and eyes just couldn't make it come together. You would scream and throw the sorter and flail yourself around the room until you were exhausted with frustration. Now you do that for an assortment of other reasons, but you've mastered those shapes. You showed that oval who was boss. You won't be taking any more crap from that hexagon. Two and a half has brought you so much more control over your world that you seem to relish the chance to practice your burgeoning skills each day.


You continue to be wholly consumed by trucks, much to my chagrin. I have tried, tried, tried to get you interested in other things: dinosaurs, animals, dragons, rocket ships, The Rock of Love Season Two. But you will not stop with the trucks. I suppose I should just resign myself to this reality, particularly since each time we plan to go to someone's house, you quickly run down the list of trucks each house has. When you haven't been somewhere, you are fast to ask which trucks they may have.


As you get older and your love of trucks begins to fade from your memory (oh, I pray), I want you to know about this very special time in our family's life. Since your brother was born, your dad has taken time off work to be home with us for eight months. You aren't likely to remember this when you are older, and that is such a shame because you are having the most wonderful time of your life right now, I believe. Every single day, your dad has been here to play trains in the morning and wrestle with you at night. He's taken you to all sorts of places and shown such love and joy just having the chance to be with you. It takes a pretty special man to walk a different path in life and live a life that shows his values not just through words but action. As you grow older, I hope you can be that same kind of man, Jack.

Love,
Your Momma

Twenty-Nine Months

Do you see how we've become much less diligent in providing updates on your life, Jack? Do you know why? It's because momma isn't getting much sleep these days with your new little brother, Evan, in the house. And without sleep, darling Jackie, momma isn't too good with the words. She also isn't too good at remembering why she walked downstairs to get something. "What did I come down here for?", she asks herself, and stands helplessly at the bottom of the stairs wondering if she should just give up and lay in an unshowered, exhausted, pajama-covered blob until someone comes to find her to feed your brother again. But I digress...

You have been quite happy to welcome Evan into our lives, but really haven't paid him much attention - positive or negative - to this point. The first day you met him at the hospital you were far more interested in what I had on my breakfast tray. Hospital muffin or new brother? Well, that decision wasn't too hard for you to make. I mean, the muffin did have apple in it, after all.


Since we all came home, you've been pretty great about helping with certain aspects of your little brother's life. You are fantastic at grabbing us his diapers, showing him your toys, and fetching his soother by transporting it ever so lovingly in your own mouth. That is true brotherly love when you are willing to share your own spit with him. Selfless, Jack. That's you.

You dance around him each morning to welcome him to the new day, and come precariously close to leaving your footprints on his soft little noggin'. But so far, all damages have been averted. You seem to love to kiss him several times each day and often inquire as to where he is. When you are tired of mom feeding him and not playing "digger builds a road" for the 754th time that day, you occasionally proclaim, "No Evan! No like Evan." Fortunately, those moments are far between and nothing a little quality time loading farm animals into your garbage truck can't cure.

As for you, you are hilarious. And frustrating. Not long after your twenty-eighth month, you decided a really great way to get mom or dad to come get you in the morning was to rip off your diaper and smear pee and poop all over the place. To your credit, you also appeared to tear open the diaper and let all the pretty little beads cascade across your crib like droplets of rain over a forest. How beautiful. So, this was when I had to institute nightly "special tape" time. You came to love "special tape" time and would ask for it each night after we started it. "Special tape" was mom's code words for taking a roll of duct tape and wrapping it around the waist of your pajamas so you could neither remove said pajamas or access the previously mentioned diaper. You were so proud of your tape you would run to show daddy each night. We were so proud of our ingenuity and another fantastic new use of duct tape.

Jack, you are turning out to be an awesome big brother. It has brought me to tears many times watching you gently touch Evan's head, kiss his cheek, or ask to hold him while you sit on the couch. As a mom to two, I can't but help feel at times I'm not getting to spend the kind of time with you that I wish I could. But you are remarkably forgiving and understanding, and just smile and laugh during the times we actually get alone together. You are a sweet, busy, incredibly smart little boy, and will always be my baby.

Love,
Your Momma

Twenty-Seven Months

Here we are, baby boy. On the cusp of a new arrival to our family. People have often asked lately how you are dealing with the idea of a new baby joining us. I don't really know how to answer that. On one hand, you ask me almost every day, "Baby coming soon?" On the other hand, you frequently toss your hand-me down Cabbage Patch baby onto the ground and run over her with your digger. We've tried to read you lots of books about new babies, and you've quickly grasped the concept that babies sleep and eat, a lot. So, consequently, your Cabbage Patch baby is often quickly dispatched to the baby's crib anytime you see her laying around under your fire truck. Either that or you are barking at me to "give baby milk". That poor Cabbage Patch. Relegated to a life of either sitting under heavy machinery, sitting alone in the dark, or having you shove a sippy cup in her eye. Let's hope the "be gentle" lesson we are working on catches on in pretty short order.


I'm still amazed how each month you continue to surprise us with new things. An ability to put puzzles together after you see them just once, your new-found love of sushi in all forms, your rapidly expanding vocabulary that now includes "workerman working hard" and "Jackie throw ball for Theo" and "I don't want it, doooon't waaaaannnttt iiiitt." You are keenly observant and always listening, particularly when I wish you were not. I think that is the conundrum of living with a two-year old - you don't seem to hear what I want you to hear, but miraculously hear every little inappropriate word I wish you did not. Next time I tell your Dad I spent the day "buying a lot of crap", I'll try to make sure you aren't standing beside me. I can hardly wait until our next trip to Rona when you declare "Jackie buy crap." I will be so proud.


I've thought often how life will be like once your Dad and I need to start splitting our attention between two children. I worry about you. I worry you won't feel as special. I worry you won't understand we love you just as much as ever. I worry, Jack. But I also know you will come to see the world differently, and probably in a much more wonderful way. You will be the big brother. And with that comes responsibilities, yes. But I don't want you to be too responsible. Not yet. You are still a baby yourself. And you always will be to me. You'll always be that energetic, crazy little blond, duck-walking nut I want to protect, to cuddle, to sit with at 3AM because I love how you rest your sleepy head on my shoulder. I truly believe that we as a family have much love to give, and your love is part of all we have to offer a new member of our family. You are going to be the best big brother. As long as we hide the digger.

All my love,
Your Big Momma

Twenty-Five Months

Viva Mexico, Senor Jack! You spent half of this month of your life in Nuevo Vallarta, Mexico with the Beaton side of the family. I was going to say "half of this month traveling on bloody Sun Wing 'We Randomly Delay You and Complicate Your Travel for Some Sick Sense of Satisfaction We Get from Seeing You Suffer' Airlines" but it only felt like that for a few days.


In all honesty, we were dreading the thought of traveling with you for five hours on an airplane with no parachutes. However, you were really well behaved and I can tell you tried with every fiber of your being to just keep it together. You did well, and only utilized about two of the six pounds worth of toys and books I brought to keep you amused. Very impressive. The flight home was a little less joyful. Kind of like how our local playground is a little less big than Disney World. But, after many rounds of prescription medications, I'm feeling much better about that whole experience.

You really, really loved being in Mexico. And what wasn't to love? You had Momma, Daddy, Grandma Brenda, Poppa, Uncle Jowely, Aunty Candi, Alyce and Caleb around to entertain you 24/7. You had sand. You had water. You had baby turtles. You had ice cream almost every day. Turtles AND ice cream, you say? Really, I wouldn't lie about these monumental occasions in life, Jack. You became brave enough to walk in the shallow end of the pool all by yourself (with a CSA-approved life jacket, of course) and even managed to "swim" in the deep end with your Dad a bit before we left. You made sandcastles. Well, let me correct that. We made sandcastles and you stomped them down like some flaxen-haired Godzilla.


One of my favorite memories of you there will be how each night you'd run out to the patio to say goodbye to the sun as it set. Since then, we've had endless discussions about the sun and moon and when we say hi and bye to them. I've never thought this much about celestial cycles since Grade Seven, Jack. I'll also always remember you and your Dad swimming and swimming and swimming. Even when most other guests wouldn't brave the frigid waters of the pool, you and Dad would soldier on and jump and play to your heart's content. You are so very lucky to have a Dad that will endure sub-zero water to see you smile. You truly are a blessed boy.


This trip will remain a special memory for me for the rest of my life, Jack. It was a chance to reflect and remember why we chose to have this little family of ours. It is in those quiet moments of just sitting and doing the simplest of activities that I realized how remarkably beautiful life could be. Collecting rocks from the retreating tide, chasing birds along the sand, eating ice cream with your Grandma on the corner as people passed by and smiled at your little chocolatey-covered face and very chocolatey-covered shirt. This trip was a much-needed reminder to slow down and maybe just stop sometimes. Just stop and take that minute to contemplate the moon in a sunny sky or help you peel a sticker from your book. The wonder is there every day, little boy. I just need those kicks in the pants every once in a while to notice it with you.

All my love,
Your Momma

Twenty-Four Months

Dear Two:

What a pleasure and a terrible tragedy to meet you, Two. You are charming, frightening, adorable, alarming, and frustrating all at once. How hard that must be for you. To wear so many faces at once, and sometimes, simultaneously. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Two, but many parents dread you. Nay, scratch that. Fear you more than dentists, roller coasters, and liver all rolled into one single grossly construed monstrosity. You parasitically cling to our once compliant and cooperative offspring and cause them to shoot fire and regurgitated puppy tails from their mouths and eyes. It's wholly unpleasant to witness, Two.

You have this magical ability to cause these toddler hosts to gush with love for their mommas one moment, and then spin hysterically on the grocery store floor the next because we won't let them carry individual eggs in their bare hands up and down the aisles. Why do you do this, Two? What terrible thing did your own parents do to you that you must now make our children crazy in the brain?


We saw what you did to our little boy at his second birthday party, and don't think we'll forgive THAT anytime soon. You took a normally charming and cute little boy and made him lose his ever-loving mind over the arrival of presents in our house.

"PRESSSSEEEEENNNNTTTTSSSS," you made him scream overtop the party talk of twelve guests who voluntarily chose to participate in a birthday party for a TWO-YEAR OLD complete with other TWO-YEAR OLDS. And sugary food.

"PRESSSSEENNNNNTTTTTSSSS," he hissed as the horns of Beelzebub himself sprouted through his fairy-blond hair.

Two, this was completely unnecessary. Please stop that immediately.


Afterwards, the horns retreated slightly and he was able to enjoy his fire truck cake (or, "fire ket truck" as he has taken to saying), the sugar high, and sugar crash that followed approximately seven minutes later. I would try to blame the sugar crash on you as well, Two, but I'm aware your closest ally, Red Food Dye, may have played a larger role in that than we anticipated.


We thank you for coming, Two, but please don't feel you have to stay for long. We understand you may have others you need to be seeing. Far be it from us to hog you all to ourselves. We'd be happy to see Three make an early entrance and take your place, assuming Three is a bit more empathetic, cautious, and open to conversation on why it isn't appropriate for toddlers to lay down in the middle of busy parking lots simply because they want to enter the car through the trunk instead of the door. If Three can't offer that, then perhaps you'd like to encourage your friends Five, Six or Seven to come by next year instead.

Thanks so much for the memories, Two.

All my love,
Jack's Momma

Twenty-Three Months

How can you be almost two? How is it possible I'm the young, vibrant, gorgeous mother of an almost two-year old? As we get closer to that life milestone, we find ourselves often wondering, "Why does he do that?" Our typical answer is, "He's two." That buys you a lot of leeway, my little friend. But, I don't recommend trying that answer when your boss asks you why you threw your coffee cup on the meeting room floor when they ran out of cookies at the annual shareholder meeting.

"Umm, I did it because I'm 33."

Seriously, that won't cut it.


Your human-bonding instinct is well intact at this stage, Jack. You have your list of favorite people in your world, and you like to bring them up each day to check whether we plan to see them.

"Aunty?," you inquire, head tilted to the right.

"Nope, not today."

"Leece?," you sweetly say.

"No, she's at school."

"KATIE?" Your eyes grow large and I can tell your heartrate has increased.

"Nope, just mommy today."

"Austin's house?," you plead with puppy-dog eyes.

"No, not today."

"Mai? Mai? Terron? Mai? Mai?" You almost can't endure the thought of a "no" here.

"No, sweety, they are at home."

"Poppa? Poppa poppa poppa?"

"No, poppa has work to do today."

"Gramma?," and I know you are praying that this is where you hit the jackpot.

"No, not today, honey. Just mommy."

I know you love me and all, but the look of disappointment when you've exhausted your list of potential play candidates is heartbreaking. You resign yourself to spending the day with, ugh, just mommy and begin counting the seconds until Dad comes home to free you from my girly-oriented activities, like playing trucks and trains, and loading the digger with blocks for you to dump. Over. And over. And over. So, so girly.


I love how attached you've become to others, and how excited you get at the prospect of seeing your family and friends. You will scream their names when I tell you who is coming, run to the window in the mudroom to watch for them, and then when they arrive, you bury your head in my crotch, shyly turn half an eye towards them, and try to pretend you are invisible. All the signs of a good host according to my Miss Manners book on etiquette.


You hold your loved ones dear, Jack, and I know you always will. Your eyes absolutely light up if I mention any of your under-five crowd: Ava, Alyce, Caleb, Mai, Austin. Your love is complete, unconditional, and enveloping. It is that beautiful kind of love we all cherish and want, Jack. It's the kind of love that makes me teary-eyed when I see you wave goodbye to your family and friends and give them a big kiss, complete with all sound effects. If you bring them even 1/100th the joy you bring me, little boy, then these folks can count themselves on the list of the world's wealthiest.

All my love,
Your Momma

The Routine

Hi Jack,

I just wanted to let you know how much I am enjoying life with you right now. You're the best alarm clock ever, where I wake up to a wonderful whirlwind of:

Songs - "Tinkle, tinkle," "hmmhmmmhmmm," and ABCs with a lot of lalalala
Attempts at counting "two, two, two, two, three, two"
Randomly jumping and bodyslamming yourself
Most recently, "dark, dark, dark, lights, lights, lights, lights, lights,"
And my favourite, "GGGGOOAAAAAAALLLLLL, hockey, hockey, hockey."

Once up, you run from your room at Mach speed to make sure all your car, truck, and train books are still in the house and begin strategically moving them throughout the living room so you are never more than three feet from a vehicle book at any given moment.

Then we're on to breakfast - usually pancakes, waffle, or toast and a pile of fruit. Once consumed, we're back to the books sprinkled with a healthy does of Theo taunting, hugging, and poking. A new routine we've started is giving Theo treats, where we place a small biscuit on his nose. The last few mornings you've run from your chair and froze in a wide-legged stance yelling "nose" (pointing dramatically at your nose in case I'm not understanding your uber-happy rants). We proceed to give Theo five treats, which is never enough, and then head back to the living room to read and play. I can't wait until you learn to throw the ball this summer as I think you and Theo are going to love the backyard.

As for the nightly routine, I usually get home around 5:30 and am greeted at the door by a super happy kid yelling "lights, lights, lights two, two, two". Since we've put the Christmas tree up, Mom has given me the honours of turning on the lights with you which we begin with a 1-2-3 count (hence the "two, two, two" sequence).

After dinner, it's usually downstairs for some hockey, wrestling, and random toy throwing. As soon as I ask if you want to head downstairs, it's like you've been hit with an adrenaline dart. You take a dramatic pause, yell "HOCKEY" and run to the stairs. It's truly awesome. I've tried filming it several times but as soon as the camera comes out you're somehow able to control this outburst. Once downstairs, we usually only get a few hockey shots and passes in before you start running around from play station to play station (that you mother has so wonderfully maintained and regularly updates based on your boredom levels). We usually get 30-45 minutes before it's bedtime but I cherish this time and love the random body slams, hockey shots, and things you find amusing (you've got the best laugh ever).

As for bedtime, you get some milk as we read more books about cars, trucks, or trains. Then it's into bed for some singing of "Twinkle Twinkle" and ABCs. You haven't started following along yet but if I stop you usually jump in with your best attempt at each song and have got the melody figured out quite nicely. Then I leave the room and am entertained by another 15 to 30 minutes of random singing and recollections of the day. I love it and look forward to doing it again tomorrow.

Love,
Dad

Twenty-One Months

I just got used to saying you were just about 21-months old, and now look. I have to say you are 21-months old. And then I try not to cry when I think about how two-years-old is hot on our heels. This month, we've had a hard time convincing people just how hockey crazy you are. You seem normal and somewhat mild mannered. But when dinnertime is over, you know the next thing on the agenda is to head downstairs and play hockey with dad. At the very moment that word crosses our lips, you go into hysterics, running from the table screaming, "Hockey, hockey, hoooocckkeeeyy." And then will often follow with a list of the words you associate with hockey, "Puck, puck, puck. Scooooore. Gooooal." I often hear you in your crib in the morning preparing yourself for the day by repeating, "Hockey. Scoooore."


Your other favorite "passing the time in my crib in the morning until mom drinks half a cup of tea and feels capable of coping with a rambunctious 21-month old" past-time is trying to master songs. Dad has worked really hard with you on Twinkle Twinkle. Regardless, your rendition is usually closer to "Twinkle twinkle...star...wonder...are." Short, sweet, and to the point. Just what your momma likes in an orator. The best part of your morning gabber fest comes when you start to mash together all the words you know. "Mommy, daddy, scoooore, star, Theo, light, hockey, hockey, hockey, digger, beep beep, mommy, gooooal, daddy, daddy, daddy." And then somewhere in the middle of it all you sneeze, laugh to yourself, and my heart melts another little bit.


One of our newest challenges has been trying to explain to you that you are going to be a big brother next year. Whenever I try telling you momma has a baby in her belly, you look at me like I am a) crazy and b) completely unaware of what I am saying to you. Sometimes, you lift up my shirt and poke my belly button. Sometimes you gaze back into my eyes and say baby and it makes me want to cry. Like all moms, it is sometimes tough to imagine having another in our family we could love just as much as you. Those little feelings of guilt find their way in sometimes as I realize you won't get to be the center of the family universe for a whole lot longer. But, I also see how fondly you gaze a little babies and love to see them wiggle and move. You have so much love in your heart, little one, that I can't wait for you to share it with your brother or sister. You will be an amazing big brother, and who better to teach the next one in our family about the wonders of diggers, hockey and stickers.



Love,
Your Momma

Twenty Months

Oh, Jack, Jack, Jack. Our personal mynah bird. This is the time in your life when that infamous language explosion is occurring. Everyday, you are regaling us with the new words you've learned. Or mistakingly overheard. Unfortunately, you refused to demonstrate any of this extensive word knowledge during our last visit with the Community Health Nurse. Whereupon she asked us a few times whether you were "using actual words" on a "consistent" basis instead of just "grunting a lot." Dude, this was no way to fast track your application into the Mensa society.


Outside of that 20 painful minutes of your mommy's life, you have given us many laughs as you attempt to place words with the things you love. Obviously, food words top your agenda because you are a kid with a one-track mind for culinary delights. Nary a moment passes that you aren't asking me for grapes, apple, pear, orange, milk, crackers, water, juice, raisins, cheese, or meat. Following a very close second are all things automotive or mechanical in nature. We've looked at more diggers, airplanes, helicopters, dump trucks, cars, trucks, fire trucks, police cars, ambulances and cranes than any two people should. The fact I now know the difference between an excavator and bulldozer should be an indicator that MOMMY HAS HAD ENOUGH OF THE TRUCKS.


The highlight of your foray into 20-monthdom occurred just recently when you got the chance to stand next to an honest-to-goodness garbage truck. The garbage administrator or disposal advisor or waste management coordinator - or whatever they call themselves nowadays - invited you to come up to the truck as they picked up their weekly cache of trash from the neighbourhood. You would have thought the skies had opened up and it was raining gold nuggets. You watched in awe as the garbage administra... - guy - threw the trash in and then smushed it up with the compactor. You screeched in glee as the truck backed up and beeped, beeped, beeped away. For the rest of the day, you just kept reenacting the throwing of garbage, a movement not unlike you were trying to swat a fly from in front of you. In fact, I can still ask you about garbage trucks and you'll start pretending like you are tossing the stuff yourself.


You are never-ending joy, Jack. Well, almost never-ending. Except those times you scream and run away from us in shopping centres. And the grocery store. And the library. But that aside, you are becoming such a little boy. No longer a baby, you are showing all the signs of growing up. Sometimes, I just want to make time stop so I can smell your head just a little longer without you saying "Moooom, stop it. Gross." I want to never lose that feeling of your tiny little hand in mine. I want to etch in my brain the way you sing songs in your crib every morning. It's going to happen, Jack, I know. But right now, I just want it to stop.

Love,
Your Momma

Eighteen, Nineteen...Whoa Hold On Here

It's not that I forgot to post a monthly update, Jack. It just looks that way. Fortunately, you are a very forgiving person with a kind soul, so you're going to let your momma slide just this one...uh, two...times.

Let's just say over these two months you kept growing, kept getting cuter, kept getting smarter.

And don't they say a picture is worth a thousand words? So, let's just say I've written a solid 4,000 words on your development and we'll call it day, alright?

Thanks baby. Momma needs to get back to her stories and bon bons.

Seventeen Months

In hindsight, we should have made one of your middle names, "Genius." Because, really Jack, that is what you clearly are. We cannot pass a park this past month without you resolutely whooping "weeeeeeee" at the sight of a slide. There we are, minding our own business trying to safely navigate you from point A to B in a car speeding a very legal 80 km/h when out of nowhere you holler "weeeeeee" from the backseat. We try to call you on it and inform you there is no park anywhere around, but 99% of the time you are right. About 120 feet away hidden behind a grove of dead pine trees and abandoned baseball diamond will be a park you've spied with those eagle eyes of yours.


This month, we finally decided it was time to cut your hair. The constant barrage of "darling girl" comments drove us to it, Jack. Your dad was worried that like a biblical Samson we may risk removing all of your powers by cutting off your lengthy locks. He had nothing to fear, as it happens. You continued to be the crazy, rambunctious kid we know, maybe even with new and improved super powers. Since then, we have not received one single girl-like comment about you. You may thank me later for having saved your masculinity at such a tender age.


Your adoration for our dog, Theo, has skyrockted this month as well. Nary a moment will pass that you aren't calling out "Eeeeeeooooo" and searching out your new favorite buddy. Little did we know Theo would come to serve so many purposes in your life: best friend, entertainer, tag team partner, punching bag, step stool. Luckily, he is quite possibly the most patient dog on the face of the Earth. He has also quickly learned that you rapidly approaching with your toy truck is a signal for DANGER DANGER MOVE IT DOG OR PREPARE TO BE RAMMED IN THE RIBS WITH THE BIG RIG OF DOOM.


Your constant curiousity and desire for the outdoors has not faltered one bit. Each morning, you look forlornly out to the patio, eyeing that water table sitting all by itself NOT BEING PLAYED WITH and the sand box SCREAMING YOUR NAME and the flower boxes NOT BEING UPROOTED REGARDLESS OF MOM'S DESIRES. You burst with utter glee when we tell you to go get your shoes so you can go outside. It's like being released from a prison. Yes, a prison with your own personal chef, chaffeur, and complete health care benefits. It must be torture living like that, Jack. Only because we know we will want to further torture you one day with stories of your ridiculous hair and lively discussions, we have provided this video wrap up for you this month. I love you, my little Banana Devil.



Love,
Your Momma

Sixteen Months

Here we are silently, quickly creeping up on that much-discussed eighteen month-old mark where you are apparently going to turn into a pig-headed, independent, "It's all about me" kind of kid. I thought that happened when you hit one year, Jack. You mean he's going to get MORE STUBBORN? In that case, I am returning you for a full refund. Or at the very least, a store credit so I can get some new capri pants.


It's all joy and pain, sunshine and rain, Jack. For instance, this month you learned a new word. Owww. Or your next favorite variation, owwie. Supposedly, we should be happy you've added a new word to your burgeoning vocabulary. In reality, we are mortified. Why? Because you use it constantly. In every situation. Like that day when we were having such a fun time at the pool. And then I tried to put a life jacket on you. The pool area filled with sounds of you screaming, "Owwww, owwwww, owwwwieeee." I, trying to keep my swim shorts at a height that wouldn't have us removed from the pool due to public indecency, just smiled and tried to pretend we were playing a fun game. You kept screeching, "Owwwwwww," long after the offending jacket had been secured and we were happily playing in the water. Scratch that. Me, happily. You, howlingly. However, the waterslide quickly distracted you from the devil's floatation device and we were able to survive the day.

That was fun. Almost as much fun as when I pulled out your healthy, home-prepared lunch when we were sitting at Starbucks one fine, sunny day. Opening all my little pre-packed plastic containers, I was awfully proud of the beautifully cut vegetables I painstakingly cut into little julienne bits for you. I was even more impressed by the wholesome whole wheat tortilla spread with garden vegetable cream cheese and cut into handy little strips for your eating pleasure. And your response the moment your lips touched the creamy garden vegetable goodness? "Owwwww, owwww, owwwieee." Echoing through the tiny little Starbucks, it sounded as if I had chosen to feed you razor blades for your mid-day lunch. Rusty, dirty razor blades smeared in bug guts.

But for all the ranting and raving and lunacy, you are still the funniest, smartest little boy we have. The last little while, you have been completely obsessed with airplanes. We could be face-to-face with a man-eating lion who is snarling and seconds away from eating us, and you'd hear a plane, look up into the sky and proclaim "pane." Nothing stops you from noticing those flying machines, Jack. You find the slightest things endlessly amusing. For all the toys you have, you'd just as soon play with a whisk and bowl. Your affinity for kitchen implements clearly illustrates you are not my son. I also enjoy watching how as life hands you lemons, you make rocking chairs. Keep up the good battle, my son. I wouldn't have it any other way.



Love,
Your Momma

Fifteen Months

You probably thought you'd end up in college before I'd post this monthly update, didn't you? Me too. I'm traveling, Jack. Traveling on BUSINESS. There was a time, about 12 months ago, I didn't ever think I'd have anything to do with the word BUSINESS again. Except those types involving monkey, risky and 'none of your'.


Your pursuit of the great outdoors has posed a challenge for us this month. You've realized that just beyond that large, white hinged object that your dad and I exit and reappear through lays an entire world of sticks, pinecones and plastic garden toys. "STICKS, people," you seem to scream with your eyes every time you catch the slightest glimpse of the lawn from an open door. "STICKS I can carry in TWO HANDS. At ONE TIME." You love being outside more than anything right now, little Jack. You could wander for hours along the sidewalk, checking out what new weeds have appeared on the lawn, sauntering up the neighbour's driveway to see if you can coerce the teen girls to come out and oogle over you.



Your hair. Your hair. Your hair. There is not a day that passes that we don't hear about your hair. Sometimes we indirectly hear about your hair through comments such as, "She is so adorable." Dude, what can I do? Seriously. Yes, it hangs over your ears. Yes, it is curly. But I dress you in blue - CONSTANTLY - and try to have some sort of male-oriented paraphenalia on your shirt at all times, like a tractor or race car or that silhouette of a naked girl we see on mud flaps. We've got two options here: 1) Cut your hair and risk having short, loopy curls sprout that make you look like a poorly maintained poodle. 2) Leave it and make you wear a "If I had a sibling, I'd be a BROTHER" t-shirt.



This month, Jack, this month you embraced the very rhythm of the earth. You began to dance. Not exactly a free-flowing, give yourself over to the music and let your heart soar kind of dance. More like a bend your knees and sporadically bob up and down like a Whack-a-Mole carnival game kind of dance. Everytime I begin to hum the opening bars of 2 Unlimited's 'Get Ready for This', you instintively start bobbing to the beat. It's like my misspent nights in the mid-90s dance club scene absorbed directly into my bloodstream, lived latent in me for 10 years, and then passed through the placenta to reappear in you. Your dad is somewhat mortified you've taken to my bizarre attachment to techno-dance music of another era, but there ain't no room in our daily gotta get down agenda for Belle & Sebastian blechy blechy barf music, now is there, Jack?


Keep shaking what your momma gave you.

Love,
Your Momma

Fourteen Months

Fourteen is my favorite number. Did you know that, Jack? Probably not. Since advanced language still eludes you and you haven't asked me, how could you know?

For starters, let's review all the words you've picked up in this past month or so. By far, our favorite word is "cracker". To which you add your own unique pronounciation flare to make it sound something like craaacc-oore. There is a definitive pause between the 'craaacc' and 'oore' part. Sort of like that pause between shifting from first to second gear. And everything with a crunchy texture is cracker to you. Cheerios? Craaacc-kkaahh. Toast? Craaacc-kkaahh. But I always tell you what the food really is, Jack. Because when I was little, my parents lied to me about food. Yes, you read correctly. LIED. Your grandparents, Jack. You're right - they should be ashamed.

For many years and countless numbers of dinners, I was told we were eating steak. Once in a while, I found the steak to taste a little odder than usual. A little denser. A little more yuck. Then one day, I learned to read. One night, during "special steak" night, I caught a glimpse of the "special steak" package. I said, "Mom, what does L-I-V-E-R spell?" And that is when I learned the awful, painful truth, Jack. I vowed at that very moment to never blatantly and callously lie to you about food the way some parents did to cover up a sickening, horrible reality. Your grandparents will have to live with that guilt for the rest of their life. Can you imagine the shame they must feel, Jack?

Now, back to you. And how I take the moral high ground by refusing to tell an innocent child a lie about organ meats. You also picked up the word "water" this month. And nothing compares to how when I ask if you want water, you smile this gigantic smile and say "ot-ter". Yes, like the sea-faring mammal. It is so beyond adorable, I just want to squeeze your cheeks as I type this. You've also been saying "apple" for quite a while now which in your world is "ap-poh". You also know that a duck says "quack quack" and you're pronounciation in this arena is improving quite a bit, thankfully. Originally, you would proclaim, "cock cock" which made it socially awkward for us when you saw a duck in public.

Perhaps the best and worst word you've also learned this month is "book". Everything is about the book, Jack. Mom's sitting down? Book. Dad entered the room? Book. Mom's pulling her hair out trying to avoid walking over top of you as she frantically prepares dinner? Book. Sometimes you'll sit forever just looking back and forth through the book and listening to us make up stories. Sometimes you barely last five seconds before you're off our lap looking for another one. I'm thrilled to see you enjoying the world of Spot and Dr. Seuss. OVER AND OVER AND OVER AGAIN.

With the good has come the less than good. This month you also started temper tantrums. Not pretty. Not pretty at all. If something's not going the way you intended, we - and our neighbours within a two-block radius - hear about it. It starts off as your standard protest cry but then escalates like one of those emergency evacuation alarms. It's deafening, really. Impressively, I believe you've also managed to activate a chain reaction of car alarms with that howl.

But you are still my most favorite, huggable, laughable, tiny hockey-haired boy. I love how I put you down for a nap with pretty reasonable hair and you awake with this Ludwig van Beethoven-inspired set of crazy curls. I love how you play so coy by tucking your head against your shoulder and smiling so hard I think your face is going to permanently stretch. I love how when I come home, you come lumbering around the corner with your new toddler walk all smiles and teeth ready to drool on my new pants. I'll take the drool over the fancy pants any day, Ludwig.


Love,
Your Momma

Awim-away-awim-away

It's hard to understand you sometimes, Jack. Like, this video for instance. It was from two months ago and yet I look at it now and can remember no possible reason why you decided to suddenly morph into a lion-like weirdo. And yet, that's the magic of being a baby. You just get to.

Thirteen Months

Lucky number thirteen snook up on us, didn't it? We've been so busy feeding your walking fetish we haven't had a chance to sit down to recount all that happened this past month. Let's review, shall we?


The weekend after your birthday we had your first official birthday party. Booze, poker, dancing girls. Jack, it was amazing. Well, okay. Maybe more like mimosas, coloring, dancing girls. You were the life of the party as you happily dug into your homemade cake decorated by none other than your artistically-inclined dad. Not too many kids can say their first cake was lovingly covered in overprocessed, high concentration glucose-fructose, non-organic chocolate and vanilla frosting by their dear old dad. Aunts, cousins, grandmas, great grandmas, and friends were all on hand to celebrate the milestone with you. You were mostly just happy to be the center of all attention, somewhat like another male who lives in our household who shall remain unnamed.


Since then, you've pretty much been on a mission to get this walking thing taken care of. You progressed from the occassional wobbly step to about a 50/50 crawling and walking split. As I write this, you are now pretty much walking full time. Your little elbows bent at 90 degrees, your fists clenched, and ambling from side to side as you go. Kind of like a tensed-up miniature cowboy who has ridden one too many bulls in his time. You seem to relish the new opportunities this mobility brings. Better access to countertops! Able to reach more drawers! Finally able to get into the cereal cupboard on your own! You are a living, breathing brochure for the benefits of toddler walking. I expect to see you on a late-night infomercial one day soon, schlocking some "Secrets of Two-Footedness Revealed" DVD and companion book set for two easy payments of $39.99. You'll be demonstrating to the kids how to finally beat mom's system for getting to the nice books on the high book shelf.


While you've mastered your father's panache for physical exertion, you've also continued your drive towards matching your mom's keen mastery for the English language. You've done the easy ones - mama, dadda, ball, apple. You even call out for your stuffed sheep by crying "Baaaa baaaa" when you see it. But now - now! - you are tearing up the linguistic roadways with two syllable words. I smell Harvard, Jack. Technically, you started with the two syllable words as you entered your fourteenth month, so really, I can't say much in this update or it'll ruin the next one for you. Suffice to say, you are a genius. I'm already working on your Nobel Peace Prize acceptance speech.


I can't tell you how much I mean it when I say how much more I love each passing month with you. Everything is just more full, more fun. You are so curious and determined. And easily frustrated. But you come by that last trait honestly since you are half made up of your dad's chromosomes. Your smile is absolutely infectious. It doesn't matter how down I am or how mad I am because you've eaten the paper off yet another one of my tampons, the second you turn on that smile everything is forgiven and forgotten. I wait for that smile every morning and it's what I remember about you every night. Whatever you are feeling, you feel it with your whole being. Whether happy, sad, mad or frustrated - you put your entire self into that emotion of the moment. I feel it, Jack. I feel your joy and your sorrow and I'm in it all the way with you, baby boy.

Love,
Your Momma

Twelve Months

One year and countless memories later.


This time last year, we met face-to-face for the first time. You, an impish, wrinkled and somewhat orangish baby, and me, a tired, bedraggled new mom hopped up on lidocaine. It was love at first sight. I remember seeing your face as your dad held you up to mine and I never imagined I could be so happy to see someone I never knew before. At that moment, I thought you were just perfect. I look at the pictures now and realize you were puffy and misshapen at the time, but love blinds us, c'est non?


As I looked in on you sleeping last night, I remembered our first night together in the hospital. I don't think I slept more than 15 minutes at a time because I kept wanting to make sure you were okay. That and I needed another hit of codeine to get me through the EXCRUTIATING PAIN of having my stomach sliced open. Sorry. I don't mean to scream, Jack. The memories of 34 hours in labour are long forgotten. Well, not really. That will come with many more nights of cabarnet sauvignon and electroshock therapy. But, as I watched you sleep that night I cried and cried because I felt so thankful to have you beside me. I cried because you reminded me of all that can be perfect in the world, and I cried because I knew how blessed your dad and I were to be able to bring your little life into the world. And really, I just cry a lot, too.


We didn't have the easiest start together. You weren't always content with life and were often unsatisfied with what we had to offer. I was overwhelmed and scared. I was convinced you were unhappy because I was doing something wrong. I was sure you were going to turn out to be an illiterate, angry, shoplifting head of an environmentally unresponsible company with questionable accounting practices. And it was going to be all my fault. But then two and half months passed and you calmed down a bit. And then six months passed and you were smiling to everyone and happily babbling to all who would listen. And then ten months came and you were crawling and playing contentedly on your own. And now you are one-year old and you are a different boy than you were those many months ago. You smile and talk and make faces at us just to make us laugh. I no longer feel uncertain or frightened of the next day. Instead, you've renewed my spirit, my life. I think we had to go through the dark parts together, Jack, just so we could appreciate the beauty and brightness of these times more fully.


In this last month you've, pardon the pun, taken great strides towards walking. You are becoming increasingly intent on making it happen. You've managed a few shaky steps each day and we're now just waiting for when we pull you out of your crib, set you down, and you walk right over to the dining room for breakfast like you've been doing it all along. You have also become our favorite party trick. Dad makes a face and you mimic it. We say a word and you try to repeat it. We ask "Where's Barney?" and you make a dash for your new favorite brown bear. Like I've said all along, it seems we would go weeks at a time where nothing new would happen and then, WHAMMO. You pull out the word "apple", start pointing at things, waving bye-bye to everyone, and the world changes daily. It's absolutely fascinating to watch, Jack. You are so smart and so perceptive. I knew my genes would come in handy for something. That and the ridiculously curly blond hair that is starting to tangle itself behind your head like the snakes of Medusa.


It's been one heck of a year, kiddo. I am honestly so excited about this next year and all the stuff we'll get to do together. You are my best excuse for going to the zoo, visiting water parks and talking maniacally about produce at the grocery store. You give me reason to make the decisions I do in my life and oddly enough, having you as a baby in our family this year has actually shown me a freedom I never thought I'd find in life. Happy Birthday, baby boy!

Love,
Your Momma

Eleven Months

Can you feel the countdown in the air, Jack? Can you feel the electricity, the excitement, the sheer pulsing of the universe as we approach 12 months? It's like the moments before the ball drops in Times Square on New Year's Eve, but minus the drunks and alleyways that smell like urine.

But man, this 11 months thing has been cool. You're becoming a little boy right before our eyes. We talk, you respond. We laugh, you giggle. We swig whiskey on the couch in our underwear, you drink water from a straw. These are the magical moments of being almost one.


You've started using words with some context applied to them. Sure, you are still the king of muttering random syllables at inappropriate times of night and day, but you've also figured out what certain things are called. Like "dada". When he leaves in the morning as you eat breakfast, we make a big production out of saying "bye bye" to "dada". Of course, you don't respond to any of that. You just like me to look like a boob as I sit with my matted hair and frog pyjamas waving moronically at your dad. But, as soon as he walks out of the house and locks the door, you usually then make a quizzical face and say "dada?" Kind of like "Oh, you mean that big bald guy was leaving. That's what your hysterics were all about?"


You also manage to sneak out a "bye bye" and a "momma" on rare occasion. "Momma" is typically reserved for when you are particularly frustrated or angry. That's really nice. Having your name associated with moments of sheer madness. Really. I'm touched. I have tried in vain to get you to say "paella" if not for the simple fact I really just wanted to tell people your first word was "paella". I mean, really, how many kids can claim that? That totally would have got us on Oprah.

We celebrated our first Christmas as a new family a few weeks ago. We spent Christmas Eve walking the neighbourhood to look at Christmas lights and opening some of your 324 gifts. We were so excited about all your presents that we made you stay up late to open them with us. Please make note of five words in that sentence that we learned a little lesson from: made you stay up late. One of our family members wasn't too happy about being kept out of bed an hour too long. But, no rest for the wicked, little man, as we hauled off to Grandma's and Grandpa's house for Christmas morning. Normally, we'd have celebrated the day sitting with a nice cup of coffee, eaten a nice, warm breakfast and casually chatted as we slowly opened gifts. Now take the inverse of each of those statements and you have what we ended up with. It was crazy and chaotic and an absolute hornet's nest of activity. But you loved every nutty second of it. You were most excited about flailing wrapping paper about and trying to eat bows. I was most excited we didn't have to end up visiting the ER that morning to remove gold curly ribbon from your trachea.


For my birthday, you spent two entire nights away from your dad and I. You managed the transition really well and charmed them - mostly - with your usual Jackness. Minus the part where you lost your ever-loving mind because dinner wasn't served when you requested it. The nerve of those hosts. Pish tosh. You've also done so well with our new nanny who I believe you think is your designated play giver from heaven. Never mind anything else, just PLAY with me WOMAN. I suspect she spoils you by simply focusing every morsel of her being on your play time. It is woefully disappointing for you the next day when you are stuck with me and you're all "WHOA WOMAN!? Why are you not crawling on the floor with me making chicken noises and tickling me?"


How much have I loved this past month? More than I could ever say, Jack. That sense of recognition and joy that sweeps over you when you see me or your dad is just overwhelming. The times when we laugh and then you laugh to imitate us is the sweetest sound to me. And how you point up at the light EVERY SINGLE NIGHT at dinner to show us that you know that if you point at it, we'll tell you what it is. Again. And again. And again. And I would do it a hundred times over if it let me see that pride and joy in your face, my sweet bubby.

Love,
Your Momma