Newsletter: Month Eighteen

Dear Leta,

Today you turn 18 months old. Did you know that all I ever wanted was a baby who would snuggle with me and grow up to be a forward on a professional basketball team? This month, YOU’VE STARTED SNUGGLING! One goal down, only one more to go. This whole living-out-my-fantasies-through-you privilege is working out better than I thought. If you could hurry up and date Brad Pitt that’d be a bonus.

Can we talk about your hair? Because everyone else in the family is already talking about it, we might as well join in. When you look back at these pictures and you see all this hair screaming out of your head, please understand that the reason I don’t want to cut it is because our family has a history of cutting their children’s hair with the best of intentions only to have it end up looking like a drowned ferret. Your cousin Meredith, when she was just a little older than you her father cut her hair and found that he couldn’t stop himself once he got started. Your aunt had to forcibly remove the scissors from his hands, but by then it was too late. She looked like a trucker named Earl who got caught soliciting sex from an undercover cop because he was too drunk to realize it wasn’t his cousin. I’m not cutting your hair, so tell your Grandparents to suck it.

Oh, and guess what? If you grow up and end up having children who are willing to eat without being wrestled to the ground then I will sue you for emotional distress and compensatory damages, be ye vigilant. You’ve suddenly stopped eating, without warning, without so much as a, hey mama, food no longer interests me so stop waiting for me to poop. One time I fed you a container of strawberry yogurt and you would have thought that I was feeding you liquid joy, so I went to Costco and bought 4,000 containers of strawberry yogurt. All 4,000 containers are still sitting in the refrigerator because I didn’t get the memo that food only tastes good once. You won’t even eat French fries. FRENCH FRIES, Leta. I promise you that there will come a day when you will look back on your 18th month and you will lament ALL THOSE FRENCH FRIES you could have eaten without feeling guilty.

Here’s the portion of the program where I recite the “Journey to Ernie” song from memory:

It’s Ernie.
I’d know you anywhere.
The schhhch schhhch in your laugh,
That Ernie shirt and hair!
The squeaking of your ducky, tells us your the one.
We found him! We found him!
La la la la la,
Our journey
To Ernie
Is Doooooonnnnnnnne.

And here’s the part where your father strangles me with his bare hands.


“Sesame Street” is now our favorite television show. Both you can I could sit and watch it for hours. Your babysitter and I know entire skits by heart and can act them out for you, even though you look at us strangely like, stop, you’re not doing it right, please just turn the real thing back on. The best part is when you watch it while lounging on the couch like it’s the end of a really rough day at work, oh and when you hum along with the songs and move your shoulders up and down. I just know that this is the beginning of your break-dancing career.

Your vocabulary has exploded in the last few weeks, but there is nothing you like saying better than Mama. This is simultaneously heart-warming and heart-wrenching because, hey! You know who I am. Except, rarely do you ever say Mama as if you are going to follow that word with something nice, like, my! How you smell like a flower! Instead you say it like a beer-bellied, unemployed pot-head who wants his dinner now, and so he screams, “WOMAN! Bring me them there pork rinds!” The part where he says WOMAN!, that’s how you say Mama.


You’ve made a lot of progress in terms of walking upright with assistance, moving from coffee table to couch and back without freaking out that HOLY SHIT! I HAVE TO GO A WHOLE SEVEN INCHES! You can walk relatively long distances while we hold both your hands, but you still prefer crawling and demanding to be carried. Yesterday you heard three of the little girls who live on our street playing in the neighbor’s yard and you crawled to the door to let us know that you wanted to be wherever that action was. I’ve never seen you giggle so heartily as when you watched those girls run around chasing each other, and for several minutes you had your father run with you after them, holding your hands so you wouldn’t topple over. It was a pretty funny scene, your father running around holding the hands of his Mini-Me.

18months3 D70

I had to hold back my tears because I wanted you to be able to run with them by yourself. I know you will be able to soon, but this also makes me sad. I’m torn. I see that you want to play, and yet, I never thought this was going to happen, that you’d be old enough to hear their laughter and want to be a part of it. I always thought you’d be this caterpillar of screams that I’d have to carry around in a carseat. And yet, you’re here, right on the cusp of this scary socialized network called Friends, a world full of happiness and a lot of heartache and I don’t feel ready to send you into it. Once you start walking you won’t ever stop, and you won’t ever understand the magnitude of that notion until you have a child of your own.

For the entire time I have maintained my website I have kept a secret from most of my readers, something I didn’t ever think I would want to talk about. I have a small mole on my forehead that I photoshop out of most of my pictures primarily because when I do post a picture of me with my mole I get at least a dozen or more emails from people telling me that I have a gross zit on my forehead that needs to be addressed. I was very sensitive about this mole growing up, but it wasn’t lost on me that this mole made me unique and was very much a part of my appearance. When I was a kid I used to imagine that one day when I had children that I would teach them that if they ever felt lonely and needed a hug or kiss that they could come up to me and touch the mole on my forehead and I would give them as many kisses as they needed and then more. It would make having this mole worth the teasing I endured in my youth.

Last week I was teaching you about your nose and your mouth and your eyes, and you were able to mimic me when I touched each feature. Just as I was about to go back to the nose you stopped and got this puzzled look on your face and then you reached up and touched my mole, like, do I have one of those, too? Without hesitation I smothered you in kisses and you laughed with your entire body. Now, whenever we do the face game you go straight for the mole on my forehead and I kiss you and then you stretch your arms out and hug me. Leta, you will never know how many years of my life you have healed with this one gesture. Thank you.

Mama (WOMAN!)