Eugenious

Dear Elena,

Your little fingernails scratched my face, pulling me from dreams so apparently dull I’d forgotten them before they were over. In the past three weeks, Elena, you have started to touch anything that looks interesting — my mushy face in the morning, chimey lion, who makes pretty music, the red trousers lying near your head, or the box of wipes in the bathroom. I actually don’t remember reading soft, crinkly books with Sylvan, or at least I don’t remember him enjoying them like you do. You reach right out and feel the soft noses and satiny wings.

And you’re talking! It’s in a dialect that I haven’t learned yet, but you’re stringing together subjects with verbs, creating phrases about how exciting it is that you have this newly discovered voice. Sometimes you talk to yourself, and, if I enter your field of vision when you’re feeling chatty, you’ll converse back and forth with me.

Touch, talk, and Tephra. You’re such a quiet, gentle presence that Tephra cat doesn’t run as if the Dementors are reaching for her with their cold claws when you enter the room. She will, in fact, come up and ask for my attention when you’re on my lap. You don’t understand the significance of this yet, but you will. Tephra is afraid of everything. Most recently, she’s realized that monsters live in Daddy’s office skylight at night — but only when the light is on. The monsters wave at her when Daddy waves at them. She pretends they can’t see her, but she keeps one eye turned upward, awaiting disaster.

Daddy says that you’re laughing with him when he plays peek-a-boo with you. I think he’s hoping you are. But keep flashing those pearly gums and playing innocent. It’ll work wonders when you get arrested for [CENSORED] when you’re fifteen. Just ask Aunt Jenny.

You had your two-month check-up on Halloween, when you were two and a half months old. Dr. Weiner placed you on your tummy and asked if you’d rolled over yet. “No,” I said, then looked at you, flipping effortlessly onto your back. “Um, I guess she has now.” You can’t depend on your roll-over muscles yet, but you’re getting there. And, in your manic desire to reach the wicker hamper, you’ve even rolled from your back to your front, a more difficult maneuver. That hamper is such a good friend that you’ve even rotated 180º around your head, like the hands on a clock, in order to see it better.

You can still fall asleep on your own if we catch you before you’re so sleepy that you’re grumpy. If you retain this ability, we might not have to deal with repeatedly laying down the overtired toddler who’s screeching at 2 a.m. (and, yes, fellow parents, I’m knocking everything wooden within reach)

And you still don’t like the car. Car rides are, quite honestly, miserable. (Be forewarned, Grampa! The ride home from the airport might seem even longer with Miss Elena in the car.)

We love you anyway.

Love,
Mommy

This entry was posted in the categories Elena, Julie by julie on Saturday, 22 November 2008, 0:02. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.