Dear Nugget,
Congratulations, kiddo, you are no longer zero (0) years old; you’re one year old (1). You’ve been zero for the past year and since you’ll be justanumberâ„¢ many times in your life to come, we might as well celebrate you finally attaining one that has some significance.
I’m resolved not to write the sappy kind of letter that tries to explain how much you’vechangedmylifeâ„¢, blah, blah, and how Ican’timaginemylifewithoutyounowâ„¢ blah, blah, blah and how you’re the bestthingthateverhappenedtomeâ„¢, blah blah, yawn . . . because although it’s all true, it’s what you’re SUPPOSED to think as a parent. It’s the absence of those feelings that’s an indication that something is amiss. Your father was the first person to really, truly love your Momma in as unconditional of a fashion as your Momma had ever been loved and it is out of that love that she’s learned what love is supposed to look like. So let’s just say the best way to describe how I feel about you is that sometimes I look at you and it just hurts how much I love you. You cause me pain and I can’t wait to get more of it. “Love Hurts” is no longer just the anthem of momma’s childhood.
This has been a huge month, kiddo. You’re now interested in what’s inside the pantry and cabinets and not content with merely opening and closing the doors with a bang. You keep Momma on her toes keeping you safe from dangerous chemicals and large bags of pretzels. Momma and your daddy have resisted installing the cabinet locks because the house is on the market and we’ve been hoping to save doing that for the new house — the new house with fewer stairs and a big basement to keep all your plastic. Speaking of stairs, just yesterday you were playing on the floor in the living room and the pup escaped your grabby baby hands to the sanctuary at the top of the stairs when you decided she needed some company. Before I could blink you put one knee up and climbed the entire first flight, much to the surprise of the pup. No place is safe from you now and Momma will have to go buy twice the number of baby gates.
When you reached the top of the stairs, you exhibited your other new skill, the one that melts Momma’s heart — the clapping of the hands. [exhibit new skill] [applause] You seem so motivated to action by applause that momma and daddy will have to prepare ourselves for your future as a carnie.
Although your baby feet still remain Momma’s favorite body part, now that we’re seeing it more often, the underside of your baby chin makes momma melt. I see your little feet and I take a picture so I can preserve the memory of your feet forever. However, when I upload the photo to my laptop I’m always disappointed. The picture never does your feet justice. I never want to eat pictures of your feet. Your feet in person, however, make Momma want to run for the peanut butter jar. Peanut butter and your baby feet are two great tastes that should go great together.
You still only 7 teeth. Seriously, what’s the deal? You fuss and want Oragel and drool but where is Momma’s tooth? Give Momma your eighth tooth and get it over with already. Absence is not making my heart grow fonder. After all your teething HELLONEARTHâ„¢ don’t you want some results, too?
Speaking of HELLONEARTHâ„¢, we introduced you to whole cow’s milk a few days before your birthday and because your daddy and momma like to make things that much more interesting we put it in your first ever sippy cup and went cold turkey off the bottle. In addition to teething HELLONEARTHâ„¢ you now had sippy cup HELLONEARTHâ„¢. Fortunately for all of us sippy cup HELLONEARTHâ„¢ only lasted one weekend and you were the sippy cup champion by Monday. Your solids intake has gone from 2 to 3 meals a day . . . something you’ve resisted for a while. Momma is writing this part down so if we ever decide to bless you with a sibling, momma can go back and read this and not beat herself up about not getting you to eat solids more than twice a day until you were one. Momma would like the learning curve to happen only once. Also for future reference, two of your necessary skills came in just under the wire — unassisted standing and stair climbing.
You are a toy multi-tasker — using one toy to play with another. You don’t show any interest whatsoever in dolls; you just don’t seem to like them — just like Momma didn’t. Your Nana will be very disappointed when she finds out because your Nana loves dolls better than the crazy cat lady loves cats. Your Nana has a mid-sized collection of dolls and at one point in her life I believe had a “doll room” in her home . . . as an adult. She’s already started your collection. The dolls are still in their boxes in the giant gift bag your Nana used to bring them over to our house. So far they don’t interest you. That’s my girl. Your grandma once brought your momma home a doll that a woman hand made for her in lieu of payment for services grandma rendered. The doll was entirely hand crocheted, everything but the plastic head from Hobby Lobby, and looked like a big pink skein of yarn covered in ruffles. Your grandma was so proud when she gave the doll to your Momma. Your momma’s reply, “why are you giving this to me? You know I don’t like dolls.” Your grandma thought that if momma saw the fancy dress the woman hand made with yarn that I’d like this doll. All I saw was a cheap plastic head sticking out of a knitting project made to resemble a drag queen’s antebellum fantasy in yarn. Throw in a few sequins, some feathers, and some glitter and she would have been set for the tranny convention. Your grandma said she told the lady that your momma didn’t like dolls but she liked clothes so to make the dress “fancy.” This is the day your momma learned that city definition for “fancy” and the country definition for “fancy” are two different things. In the interest of full disclosure momma must admit she had a fondness for Barbie when she was young but Barbie is not “dolls”; Barbie is “fashion” so it doesn’t count.
Momma thought it was just momma’s personal disdain for dolls that was rearing it’s head when she first saw the dolls your Nana brought for you — thought she was the only one who was inexplicably creeped out by them. They are adorable, no doubt, but there is justsomethingaboutthemâ„¢. She thought Momma was the only one until she read two different blogs where the mommy writers specifically referenced the same dolls and used words like ‘alien’ and ’spawn of Satan.’ Apparently Wal-Mart is in the creepy doll business and if things go over here like they’ve gone over in those other kids homes, the effigy of Zenu’s progeny will be your best and unpartable best friend and your Nana will have bought you the best gift on the planet.
Covering you with kisses with each letter I type. [I'm choking on all this sentimentality but I love you anyway.]
Love,
Momma
