• Walking up & down the stairs
• Eating oatmeal
• Sliding down the biggest slide at the park
• ALL ON YOUR OWN

Dearest JJ,

Today you are 18 months . . . and one day. You may think, “If you were a good mother, you would’ve written this on my 18 month birthday instead of a day late.” Hmm: did I have anything going on yesterday? Maybe I was busy cursing the church copier (and I didn’t even get struck by lightning for a) muttering unkind words at church and 2) yelling at God’s copier – shh: don’t tell). Maybe I was baking treats for events this week (events that I take you to so that you may expend that NeverEndingFount of Extrovert Energy you were blessed with). Maybe I was wondering if you would make it to today (watching you use your rocking chair to climb to lofty heights over and over and over – you could have fallen on your own . . . or with a little help from a frazzled mother/warden).
At any rate, today I am writing to tell you about life with you at the age of 18 months . . . and one day. You do LOTS on your own: you are your own independent Munchman (throw your hands up at meh). You climb stairs. You descend stairs. Carefully you reach up to see if you can grab the handrail thingie – I didn’t teach you; you did it on your own. If you can’t reach, you just steady yourself on the wall.

You eat oatmeal on your own. Particularly, the raisins hold your interest, and your little 18 months old . . . and one day fingers reach into the goo to obtain your shriveled prize. And then I get the reward of cleaning you – yeah, neither of us are winners in that realm.

Slides. You do slides. On your own. You climb the chain thing on the “Recommended for Ages 5-12″ park equipment up to the stairs up to the Tallest Slide. Swiftly you throw your legs around to a barely sitting position, and then you fling yourself with reckless abandon down the slide, because Lord knows we’re just sitting down at the bottom twiddling our fingers (definitely not spotting you on the chain, making sure you don’t trip, and running as fast as we can before you throw yourself down the sliding goodness – oy).

People ask me if I’m scared about all the stuff you’re doing; frankly, I don’t have time. But I’m thinking my friend Ron should start a RockClimbing Class for toddlers – they’re gonna climb, might as well get them in harnesses now.

“DAH!” is a regular part of the vocabulary, but it has different meanings depending on the inflection. DAH! can mean “that.” DAH! can mean “look at that funny looking person at the store.” Dah. can mean “yes, I want raisins: lots and lots of raisins.” “BOWWWWW!” is a word to use when you’re asserting your male dominance. “DEEDEE” said in a squeeky, audible-only-to-howler-monkeys voice means “kitty,” “doggy,” or “fishy.” So basically you could be the next Crocodile Hunter or Grizzly Man and do just fine.

Nighttime is a sad time, especially when Dad takes you to go get ready for bed: the world ends, weeping and wailing ensues, and the only thing that pacifies you is your nightly dose of flouride. But each morning you greet me with a big smile, and as we look out the window at the park and imagine the possibilities for our day, I smell your sweet baby scent and thank God for my precious manifestation of living poprocks.

I love you, baby.

~Mama

Ps. I don’t call you JJ in “real life.” But seeing as how you’re eighteen months . . . and one day, I figure I should respect your privacy and not litter the internet with your name: I mean, I don’t think Jack Bauer’s mom blew his cover as a kid, and you if anyone, my friend, are destined for CTU greatness.

JJ Jawings, Mama Musings