20 Months
My Darling Tori Anne,
Yesterday you turned 20 months old. We still call you the baby, but the truth is, you really aren't a baby anymore. You are a full-on child, a kid, a toddler--and a handful. You have grown into the smartest, wiliest, most clever toddler I've ever seen. The ladies at the morning care program where you spend three mornings a week put it euphemistically this way: "That child has enough personality for three kids!" It's true. You do.
Over the last month two major changes have taken place; first off, you talk. A LOT. You say full sentences quite frequently, but only about a third of those sentences are in English so no one knows what you are talking about. You tell us, however, at great length about various things that have gone on or that you've witnessed. For instance, when I came home with a new hairstyle the other day, you had nearly as much to say about it as the internets, and judging by your smile, you were nearly as complimentary. You are clearly going to take after both of your parents and be a chatterbox. Neither of us are capable of ever shutting up. It's going to be very loud in this house.
The second change is the CLIMBING. Oh my GOD do you CLIMB. At first, it was just the couch. Then it was the chairs. Then it was the piano bench. But then all of a sudden we turned our backs for two seconds and you were on top of the piano. NO, I MEAN ON TOP. ABOVE THE KEYS. You nearly gave your daddy a heart attack. You've climbed up on the dining room table, onto the ottoman, onto the window sill above the couch. You've attempted to climb on top of the television, the fireplace, the refrigerator, and the dog. None of those has worked out quite yet. THANK GOD. Both of us have no idea what to do about the climbing. We've hidden the piano bench, but unless we remove all of the furniture from the first floor all we can do is tell you to sit down and tell you no. You continue to think "no" is very, very funny. We'll often run toward you trying to stop you from some dangerous climbing you are attempting and you will quickly sit down and say "sheet." As if, all along, you were only planning to sit.
You've also gotten much more clear ideas of what you want over the last month, but what you want, sadly, often clashes with what we want or need. So this has led to more crying and whining and fussing than we are used to seeing from you. Oh, and HITTING. The hitting? Not so much fun for mommy. Lots of face slapping going on (you, slapping me, not the other way around). Luckily, you are also still adorable and that balances things out.
You've gotten into dress-up lately. You play with hats, with tiaras, and with all the very cool necklaces your internet auntie Stacey sent you from Mardi Gras in New Orleans (you especially love the rubber duckie one). In an odd sign of your intuitiveness, you seem to have connected Mardi Gras beads with female nudity because right after they arrived, you began taking off your shirt. No, really. You've been running around the house topless wearing nothing but beads for several days now (unfortunately, by the time I get the camera you take off the beads and come running over to see Sarah because you believe she lives in the camera).
In between all the climbing, you continue to display musical talent that is very exciting. You sing more now, mostly with that crazy screaming DORA!, but also with me sometimes. You've also become even more cuddly, and one of your favorite things to do is to sit on Daddy's lap and watch videos of trains on the computer. If you see the laptops come out, you yell, "Choo choo!" and demand to come up so you can see the trains. And by the way, I will tell you what the "DILF" on Daddy's shirt means when you're older.
We didn't get the chance to take you on too many new adventures this month because we've been working hard and also we've been busy trying to help someone who doesn't seem to want much help. Plus, we're planning on taking you on your biggest adventure yet, one that involves airplanes and deserts and the Grand Canyon and meeting your real life aunts and uncles and cousins!
We got your hair cut this month, and we had to actually get you a real honest-to-god hairstyle because you were beginning to resemble the feral kid in the Mad Max movie. It was tough for the hairdressers because kids your age don't usually have quite this much hair and you HATED getting it cut and cried and cried and cried. It was so sad. And they even had Nemo playing right in front of where you were getting the cut! I wanted to leave it long, but you no longer tolerate ponytails or barrettes of any kind, so I wanted something that looked neat and clean. Oddly enough, you now resemble a famous celebrity baby. But, of course, WAAAAAAY cuter.
Tori, you are a willful, smart, challenging little girl these days. I can't believe we are going to get on a plane and fly across the country with you. I get tired just thinking about it. But I love you more fiercely all the time, and you continue to amaze me with your awesomeness. You are a great little girl, and I am so glad you are mine.
