Eugenious

Dear Elena,

I sorted through hand-me-down pink and purple pants and re-arranged the already-worn shoes so that I’d be able to find them more easily when you’re big enough to wear them. You were busy too: I found bits of a bar of soap smushed into the upstairs hallway floor. That never would have happened when your brother was a year and a half old. He wouldn’t have let me be far enough away that he could have gotten away with that, and, in a vicious circle, I wouldn’t have given him the independence to swipe soap and make floor art with it. You started out independent, so your new cleverness and mobility just mean that I will undoubtedly find many more floor murals.

Sylvan enjoys his privacy when he’s in the bathroom. But you don’t always respect that yet, AND you’ve become quite the little imp. One day, as he sat in the bathroom saying, “No, no, I don’t want you in here, Elena,” you looked back at Daddy and me and held your foot up in the air, dangling it into the bathroom. Monkey!

Elena's monkey face. This one's for Hanna and Sebastian.

Elena performing at a party at our house.

Nearly a month ago, you started to gain more verbal language. We’ll compile a more comprehensive list in another entry, but your favorite words are “Bob” (“bobp”), originally referring to a small, plastic Bob the Builder figure, but also for other 3-inch high dolls; “draw” (“daw”), one of your favorite things in the world to do; “Daddy” (“dada”), probably your favorite person, judging by the smiles and the happy dance that he elicits; and “Mommy” (“mama”). Back in January, you started to say “water” by hitting your hand against your mouth and making “wah-wah” sounds, in a modified version of the sign for “water.”

You, Sylvan, and I have gone to the pool a handful of times in the past few weeks. The first time, you cried. We hadn’t been to a pool since last August, so you probably had no recollection of a vast tub of warm water. You settled in, and now you fearlessly walk through the shallow water, occasionally losing your footing and sputtering when I pull you out. You really enjoy floating on your back. I’m surprised at your willingness to let me lay you back; you don’t arch up or try to force your head up in a pilates crunch.

Often, when I go to Dance Africa rehearsal, you join me. For a while, that was challenging and stressful for me, because the noise and crowd made you nervous, so you wanted to be in my arms the whole time. (And you were often running away from your brother…) As you’ve started to dance more, now when the drummers drum, you start marching around, beating your hands as if you had maracas in them. You love Sandra Boynton’s Barnyard Dance, with all its twirling, swinging, and promenading. That’s a great book for a family square dance. You also regularly come into the kitchen, tilt your chin to the ceiling, and start spinning until you fall down. Recently, you’ve added trying to jump to your repertoire. Daddy says you can jump off both feet, but I haven’t seen that yet, just the attempts, which look like alternately stamping your feet and stiffening your whole body.

You, in bullet form:

• Elena, you sleep. I didn’t know babies did that. If you awake in the middle of the night, it’s for a good reason, like, ow, these molars are pricking their way through my tender gums.

• You climb the stairs, often without a spotter, and you slither your way back down, especially if you’re wearing footie pajamas. They’re the best for sliding.

• You love to read, especially while you’re sitting on the potty. Three of your favorite books are photographs of baby faces: one that has sign language, which you do or attempt; one with exclamations, like “Uh-oh!”, which you like to say; and one with kissing babies, among other photos.

• For at least two months, you’ve enjoyed kissing and hugging. For a while, you kissed the kissing babies in the baby signing book. Now, you’ve moved on to people. You’re the most generous hugger I’ve ever met.

• You find all the cats in the book One Moose, Twenty Mice, a beautifully-made book of photographs of felt cut-outs of animals and numbers that our friend Wendy gave baby Sylvan. Sylvan can read it to you, and he helps you find the cats if you have trouble.

One Moose, Twenty Mice

• You like dogs are you aren’t afraid of them. Learning not to blindly approach pooches is our next step.

• A couple of months ago, you started to tell us if your diaper was yucky by hooking your thumbs into the top of your diaper. Now, though, you’re just as likely to shake your head when we ask if you have poop in your diaper: “No, that’s not me.” I hope we didn’t miss the window. Maybe I’ll put you in underwear next week.

I’m pretty sure you’ve already taught me a lot about unbridled joy. Thank you. I love you, Miss E.

Love,
Mommy

Dear Elena,

Ah, sure, apologies and all that for not writing you a birthday letter since May. Second children, blah, blah. I really do think there are more picture of you, second child, so don’t worry. I love you the purplest.

A short summary of your last few months:

• June 24 (in Arlington, OR, at the playground): You stood by yourself, from crouching while hanging on to standing: “Look, Ma!”

Elena's first solo stand

• Also that week we were camping: You started waving. Clapping too, I think. You also signed “more” once and “milk” twice. That’s it for the sign language. I mean, reaching and making whiny noises works so well.
• You love waterfalls. The one we hiked to in the Wallowas made you smile.

Elena at the waterfall

• You like tents. You enjoy burrowing into puffy sleeping bags and bouncing off the tent walls.

• Late June: You realized that banging two objects together is pretty fun. And noisy.

Smiling on cue

• July 12: You got your first tooth.
• July 19: Second tooth. Now we’re feeding you filet mignon. Rare.
• Late July: You started taking directions. You’ll “shake the water off” if Daddy asks you to, shaking your head “no.” And you notice when someone is leaving and saying good-bye; you wave to them, even with only the prompt of good-bye language.

• July 27: You started walking, first taking a tentative three steps, as Gramma Mia and I looked on, not believing that Grampa had really only stepped out of the room for a moment. Within a couple of days, you were up to eleven steps, including stopping, crouching down, and picking up objects. Now you’re a toddler, definitely preferring walking to crawling. I’m not sure you realize yet that you’re allowed to bend your legs when you walk, so you really do toddle. I can’t even remember the last time you crawled (but it was probably yesterday. Please forgive me; I have two small children.).
• You dig ice cream. It’s required in this family.

• Within the past month, you’ve started to understand concepts that seem rather abstract to me. You’ll pick up my shoes, even Mary Janes with heels, shoes that don’t look anything like your shoes in color, type, or size, and you’ll try to put them on your feet. It’s the same with hats. You don’t have any baseball hats, but you’ll pick up my Yankees hat and place it on your head. And you’ll pick up anything with plentiful buttons on one side: old cell phones or remote controls, a calculator, (a cob of corn tonight; those are buttons, right?) and you’ll talk to your favorite person on it (Tephra?). Remember, too, that you live in a family where Daddy uses his cell phone for work, I don’t have a cell phone, and I spend perhaps an hour, total, on the land line each week.

Hip hip. That's what tigers say.

• Yesterday, at the end of a hike with Sylvan on the Amazon Headwaters trail, we crossed a bridge with safety wires placed closely enough that I felt I could let you do your own thing. You crouched down, picked up some Oregon ash seeds, and tossed them over the edge. As you’ve done from nearly Day 1, you started exploring on your own, testing gravity in this case – or at least having fun throwing stuff.
• You have three words that I recognize: dog (daw), cat (a-dat), and door (doh).
• You think the trampoline is great fun, but “how am I supposed to get off this thing?”
• And I almost forgot: you’re using the potty! Okay, you’re using your diaper, too, but I just sat you on the potty last week, and you figured, “Oh, I know what this is for.” And, without fail thus far, you’ve delivered. Today, at your one-year exam (30th percentile for height, 75th for weight – taking after Mommy), the doc essentially said, “Really? It seems too early.” I know, I know. And we have to get through the year of stubbornness and running away, but I’ll take using the potty instead of yucky diapers while I can.

From this to this in a year:

I love you, Elena, you and your sweet smile.

Love,
Mommy

Dear Elena,

You’re wonderful and sweet and smiley, and, regrettably, I think I’m going to have to limit this to a list and some photos.

Elena works on her Elvis impersonation. Too much tongue?

Ooh, sprinkler

• You started crawling 10 days before you turned 9 months old.

• You started moving from crawling to sitting a few days after that. Before that point, you’d often hang out in a reclining Botticelli position, working your oblique abdominal muscles, trying to push yourself to sitting. Now you sit up effortlessly. You still like that lounging position, though.

• You’re sometimes shy around strangers, asking to return to Daddy or me if you’re a little unsure of who we’re handing you off to. You warm up quickly, though, and you still flirt with everyone we meet at the grocery store.

• I read that baby fat reaches its peak around 9 months. It’s true. You’re a chunk.

• I’m writing this five days after you turned 9 months. Since then, you’ve started pulling yourself to standing. That baby fat is going to start melting away now; I mean, you’ll be running tomorrow. Or maybe it will just feel that way.

Love,
Mommy