Shorthand

Dear Darling One,

We've been stealing. Internet that is. Not, like, actively. It just came to us. It just was always there, ever since we moved in. Now it's gone and we have no internet in our home. This is, in many ways, absolutely lovely. Instead of watching you with one eye and checking the weather radar with the other--or helping you balance with one hand and scrolling for a dinner recipe with the other--now both my eyes and both my hands are focused on you. We also moved the TV out of our bedroom and into the living room. In the three days since we did that, I've read 600 pages. Unfortunately, the 600 pages were out of a book called The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo.

Anyway, all this just to say that I don't have as much time to post blog updates right now (or at least until June 10th when the internet returns to 1138) so I'm going to sum things up quickly, in shorthand, so I don't forget. Here we go:

You haven't said "red" again (Mama: she didn't say it. Dada: yes she did). You can pull yourself up and plop back down and crawl FAST. You had your first trip to the beach. You tried to eat sand and I hovered over you, pouring water over your hand to wash the sand away. Then Grandpa Peter took you walking through the shallow water. You love to shift your butt across the bottom of your wading pool to make a squeaking sound. You love puffs (cheerios-like things that dissolve easily in your mouth) and you love trying to use a sippy cup. You go ballistic when someone offers you a water bottle. Changing you has become an Olympic event--you are able to flip and crawl halfway off the changing table in two seconds. The only hat you will tolerate is your beret. Daddy says that makes you a snob. The last three nights you've slept 7:30-7:30 with only one feeding at 5:30am. We've let you cry through the other feeding time. I go to the basement so I can't hear you. We had a play date at our house yesterday. It is hilarious to watch all of you: pushing one another out of the way, accidentally sitting on one another's laps, biting one another, poking at one another's eyes. Yesterday also, when you approached Luxy's slobber-covered stuffed soccer ball, I said "no" and you didn't touch it. I felt proud. Three hours later you went for Luxy's water bowl. I said "no" and you laughed. You also laugh if, as you crawl away from me, I say "come back here! I'm going to get you!" This makes you laugh and crawl faster. Which makes me think you understand a lot more than you're letting on.