We have so much to talk about this month! Or rather, you have so much to talk about this month. In the last few weeks you have become, at long last and very suddenly, a verbal little person. You speak well over 100 words and add more every day, you speak far more often than you sign (although you do still sign quite a bit) and you try to repeat virtually everything you hear. Everything worthwhile, anyway. Everything, it seems, is a sentence to you: blue spoon, Mia picture, Yay Mia, Dada Chris. Dada is maybe less than thrilled that I taught you his name, but it is so adorable to hear you call him Chris that I don't see how anyone could fault me.
The other big thing is also huge. Mia Bean, my precious, my angel, my bug, my perfect little monkey butt, you sleep through the night. We get you into your jammies and read a story on Mama and Dada's bed and then another story in Mia's chair and then we plop you into bed where you read and talk to Pooh until you fall asleep, and we don't hear from you again until morning. It's been a month, over a month. It's been so long that I can't say with any accuracy how long it has been since I have had to go get you in the middle of the night. Mia, looking back from a slightly better-rested place, I value those nights with you, I treasure those long hours wrapped around your soft little body or huddled at the bottom of the bed while you slept lengthwise across my pillows, but my god girl, it's about damned time. And I wouldn't do it any other way, I wouldn't go back and leave you to cry it out, and I always knew that you would come to this point in your own time and in your own way, but I am more grateful than I can express to finally be here, on the other side of the Great Sleep Divide.
You did your first independent forward roll a few days ago, and since then have been showcasing your new talent for anybody who gives you the slightest encouragement. It's amazing to watch. You plop your little head down on the floor, straighten your legs, and push and twist and giggle until you manage to flop yourself over onto your back. You leave your arms dangling at your sides for most of the process and we have been unable to convince you that they may actually come in handy. Yesterday you did a forward roll for Mimi and Grandpa and Aunt Sandy and I thought they might actually raise the roof with their applause and cheers. And through it all, you stayed just where you had landed, smiling and basking in our adulation. The world is all about you these days, and you like being in charge.
You've added a couple of colors this month to your beloved yellow and blue. You can now say and identify pink, green and purple. Red does not exist to you, I suspect largely because you cannot say red and therefore, why bother? You've also added a few letters, like P, T, U and Z, and probably others. You have reached the point where I can no longer say with authority what you do and do not know, because you surprise me daily. You also picked up nine, used mainly to tell me how many whatevers you want - one, two or nine. Nine is nearly always the answer.
Or actually, no is nearly always the answer. It is your new favorite word and you break it out at every opportunity, including when you are vigorously nodding that yes, you do indeed want whatever is on offer. There's a lot of power in no, see above about being in charge. Despite your love of no, you are a very agreeable little girl. You are nearly always happy, nearly always smiling and giggling and playing and giving hugs and kisses. The two constants in my life right now are hearing how beautiful you are and how happy. You do have an occasional tantrum of the sort suspected to melt paint from walls, but they are rare and generally brief. I hesitate to mention it, but you have never yet had a fit in public, and in this area I am quite happy for you to continue to lag behind your peers. You even laugh when you hurt yourself, because the kissing of boo-boos is one of your most favorite activities.
Another of your favorite things of the moment are your candy shoes. They are white leather sandals with two small pink bows each and I have no idea how you came to think of them as candy shoes, but that's what you, and now I, call them. You make leaps like that all the time now, putting the things you know and remember together in ways that order your world and make sense to you, although not necessarily to the rest of us. I'm watching you learn, watching your mind and your personality and your ideas develop, and it is the most fascinating show I have ever seen.
I was up early this morning, stressed a bit over the idea of buying a new house and today's trip to the beach (the ocean is big water, so you have been telling me for days) and you have just started to wake up. I can hear you over the monitor stretching and talking a bit, ready to say good morning to Pooh and read a book or two but not yet ready to call for Mama to come get you and start towards breakfast. These quiet morning moments, these few minutes of singing quietly to yourself before starting your mile-a-minute day, are among my favorites. They allow me to put everything else aside, to take a few minutes to just be so very grateful to be able to share this life with you.