15 Months

Dear JEB,

Look at you! In that stripey sweater! Posing by that wicker chair! Such a big, big kid now! This post is a day early, but TRUST ME, nothing else in my life is ahead of schedule (or even ON schedule), so don't get used to it.

Today we went for your 15-month checkup and next time we will be sure to schedule it on one of your dad's off days. This is on account of the fact that I am not strong enough (physically or emotionally) to hold you down while that nurse jabs needle after needle after needle after needle (did you get that? FOUR needles) into your legs and then tries to distract you with a measly old spiderman bandaid. During the third of those needles, you squirmed loose from my grip and nearly ripped it right out of your leg. The nurse said, annoyedly, "Can you PUH-LEEZE hold his hands?"

I really was trying my best ... I'm not sure people realize how strong you are. I mean, you can lift a five-pound weight almost up over your head (not that we let you practice that or anything) -- how am I supposed to handle that kind of strength backed by a will of iron?

It's that iron will that I am starting to love most about you (notice I said "starting" -- there are just too many other things about you to love -- iron will is in competition with thinkgs like those big slobbery kisses that you plant on my nose). So I am just starting to appreciate that drive to get what you want NO MATTER WHAT. That curiosity and inquisitiveness that cannot be satiated. It's just pure wonder at all of life's, well, everything.

For a long time now I have had a love-hate relationship with this will of yours. I love it when your determination helps you accomplish your goals. I hate it when it deters you from reaching them. Like, for instance, that goal you have about spending 101% of your time outside the house splashing in rain puddles and checking out rocks. You see, I think this is a fantastic goal, but in order to accomplish it we must always get your socks, shoes, hat, coat, and mittens on and then Mama must also put on all of her winter garb (and have some coffee and be wearing something more appropriate than pajama pants and have on chapstick and sunblock). And clearly all of these preparations get in the way of your need to be instantly gratified by the great outdoors. I guess I haven't yet convinced you that there are certain stepping stones, because when you get "bye-bye" in your head then that means war. I try so hard to be understanding. I start preparing you for the donning of these items a LONG time in advance of the actual opening of the door. I say things like, "First, shoes and socks, next, go bye-bye outside." To no avail. I have heard and read that in about three more months you'll be a little more rational. But for now I have to just tell myself to be patient and enjoy your Everything Wonder because as you age it will fade, I'm sure.

You are tall and slim and right on track with everything physical and developmental. Your favorite toys are --hands down -- your teddy bears (or anything stuffed and soft) and your trucks (or anything with wheels). You also like to play with cups while you bathe. You fill them up with water and then pour out the water ever-so-carefully and always toward your belly. Sometimes you stick your mouth under the cup and pretend to drink the water because you think it's really funny when I say, "DON'T BE DRINKING THAT NASTY BATHWATER!!!"

Note to readers other than The Goose: Please do not go and google the phrase "diseases caught from drinking bathwater" ... I would rather not know.

Buddy, I am fascinated by your language development. You can say "bye" and "Dad" and "Mama" and "moo." The latter of these words is always the response to the question, "What does X say?" (where X = cow, duck, Dad, etc.). Otherwise you speak your own version of what seems to resemble a mix between German, Mandarin Chinese, and that African tribal language with the tongue-click noises.

Despite the fact that you hear a whole lot of English and a decent amount of Spanish, you prefer your own system. You make these really hard Germanickish consonant sounds like "ocht" combined with these guttural noises like "urt" all mixed together with an Asian kinda beat. This Goose language is so real that it kills me not to be able to at least understand a bit of it. But I guess that's too much to ask since I am the one attempting to teach you Spanish without having even remote speaking or listening competentency in that language myself. Heck, half the time I can't even understand English.

Your lingusitic repertoire is uncanny. It has all the requisite components: pauses and inflection, both word- and sentence-level stress, and rising and falling intonation to indicate questions or statements, respectively. For example, if someone new is around (like the man who fixes heating units that are acting funny), you'll ask, "ooozZATT?" Likewise, if there's something new in the house (like Christmas cookie tins posing precariously on the ledge of the crown molding in the kitchen) you'll say, "uhzZATT?" And I always answer to the best of my ability.

Every night after dinner we go into your playroom (which is the size of our entire last official domicile) and have family wrestling time. This consists of you pushing your cart around trying to run over me and your dad while we roll around on the floor trying to dodge you and all your obstacles (e.g., toy trucks, gobbling snails, giant teddy bears, remote control cars, books, a fake dashboard of a car that sings and makes siren noises, etc.). Sometimes when I collapse on the floor, you run over and blow on my stomach to make that fart noise that you find so hilarious. Other times I'll go tackle dad and then you'll come jump on top of the heap, so wanting to be right in the middle of it all.

And when I really sat down tonight to type this and think about it, I realized that in the middle of it all is just where I want you to be. As much as I get annoyed at you squeezing yourself in between me and the kitchen cabinets while I attempt to prepare meals ... as much as I complain when you use your spaghetti-encrusted hands to hang onto my dry-clean-only pants ... as much as I cringe when you are begging and begging to go outside and at the same time boycotting the application of your pint-sized outterwear ... even though all of that happens almost daily, I love it when you are right there in the middle of it all, because really, what better place is there to be?

I love you,

Mama