22 months

Dear Sophia,

I now know why every parent I know complains about being a parent. It is effing hard. I am not going to sit here and say how much I love it and how much I was meant to do it, because that is just going to make every mother that reads this cry harder when they are alone tonight. With this letter I am already breaking the most important rule of mothering: only talk about how hard it is after periods of desperate alcohol consumption. That is when the truth comes out in loud, sloppy ways.

The thing is, I love you so completely that I would never, ever choose another life path. That basically sums it up. I am so lucky and so tired.

At 22 months, you have learned how to speak in full sentences, how to count to 13, how to identify all colors and every letter in the alphabet. You have learned how to be beside-yourself happy and horribly crabby in the same minute. You have also mastered the art of making me crazy by whining at my feet and pulling on whatever clothing you can reach. You know the scenes in horror films before the murderer is about to snap and the picture gets all kaleidoscope focused with a kind of nails-on-the-chalkboard background music? That is so what I feel like about 300 times a day.

The other day you were playing with candles as toys. (UNLIT candles, Internets...Jeez, I haven't lost it that much!) You grabbed one like it was your baby and declared, "Mine!" Then I handed you another one, and said "Here is another one, now what that you have two?" To this you replied, "Mines!"
It is this type of intelligence display that makes me think I will never be able to relax again.

Of course, some times you use your smarts to be sweet. Last night as I was pouring your bath, I quickly changed into a nightgown that is a bit flirty, even if I did buy it at a Wal-Mart in Clemson, SC over a decade ago. The typical bedtime attire that you are used to seeing involves a wine-stained race T-shirt and pants that declare "Housework is Evil" all over them in playful lettering. You quickly reacted to the nightgown with wide eyes and shouted, "Mommy cute!"
I was so touched. After checking me out for a moment you decided I deserved a hug, which is so rare these days as you learn to love independence. As I bent down for the tiny embrace, it occurred to me that this was your way of saying, wow, congrats on the momentary emergence from frumpiness, lady.

Thank you, baby. I try.

Love,
Mom