Dear Seth,
You're eighteen months old. Eighteen! I'm very proud (and relieved!) to announce that as of now, when you're actually turning the corner to eighteen months and a half, you are finally walking full time.
I might have thought this day would never come.
But here it is, and you're on the move. The downside is that now that you're not crawling, your medic alert bracelet doesn't clank on the ground and keep me continuously aware of where you're at in the house. Now that you're wandering on two feet, I'm always shocked at the places I find you. Your sister came to me this morning and told me that she was sure you would grow up to be a scientist, since you definitely liked doing experiments involving the toilet.
Sure enough, that's where I found you. You were probably measuring the relative volume versus mass of the toys you were tossing in there, right?
I had a sneaking suspicion you were becoming a giant like your older siblings, and our pediatrician visit confirmed that for me. You've jumped over 50 percentage points on the growth chart, and you're off the charts for weight. You're 27 pounds and 36 inches tall and outgrowing your clothes in roughly a day and a half. I'm unprepared, since you literally stayed in the same clothes from about 6 months to a year because you did that whole stopping growing thing. By the way, that was no fun.
No more, though! You're eating everything in sight, growing like crazy, and you're a head taller than babies who were previously towering over you. Talk about making up for lost time!
You're still in therapy multiple times a week, and you hate performing on command. You're obnoxious like that. By our last count you "have" between 25 and 30 words, meaning that we have heard you say them correctly and in context, but you by no means say them when we ask you to. When I ask you to say something you look at me like I am both insane and stupid rolled into one, but then you look at me and say something crazy like "Uh-huh, at the table." Oh really, Seth? You'll tell me you want to eat at the table, stringing multiple words together, but you won't say BALL when I ask? Ridiculous. It's a good thing you're cute.
You're still very cuddly, which I love, and you have become a champion hugger. You spread your arms out wide, grin, then throw your arms around me and squeeze, then throw in a few back pats for good measure. It's pretty much the highlight of my day. You've also started kissing people right on the lips, which is a pretty intense encounter, since you drool more than most babies I've seen. You'll lounge on the couch or floor with me and your brother and sisters and just veg out, which is a very important activity in my mind. I'll do whatever I can to foster that in all of you. It's a sacrifice I'm willing to make.
Now that you're walking, you have no fear...you climb all the funiture, basically throw a few backflips off the sides and back, and refuse to let anyone help you do anything. Unless you want people to do everything for you, which is apparently totally different. If you see me coming with a clean diaper, you throw yourself down on the ground and hike your legs up in the air, which is just as funny every time you do it.
You're absolutely in love with your baby sister Vivi, which is a huge relief. You insist on hugging her first thing every morning, and if she's not in her usual "spot" in the living room you're known to get pretty worked up until you manage to ascertain her location and check it out. I think you're going to be super protective of her and drive her up the wall. It's going to be awesome.
Basically, you're still totally my baby, albeit a big, unwieldy one. You're finally sleeping great without waking at all and I am in love with that. You're very conscious of strangers, and you refuse to go to most people. I love you so much it hurts. Everything we went through, you and I, in your crazy first year of life has really bonded us in a special way. I have been thrilled that this year has proven to be much easier and more laid back for you. You're just a typical kid now, and boy do I love that.
Happy 18 months, Seth. You rock my socks.
Love, Mama
