Snowy Day

 This morning we sat together looking out the third floor window at the freshly fallen snow over Stacey Street. We like to look out the window in the morning and name the things we see.

"Uck!" You said, pointing with excitement at a white pickup truck with a snowplow attached and some fetching flashing lights on the roof. "Uck" means both "truck" and "duck" at the moment, so I said "That's right Succotash! It's a white truck. Look at the snow plow. It's moving the snow." You were nothing short of rapt.

The other day for the first time you were old enough, and Milo felt young enough, for you to play together. You tossed a fuzzy bedroom slipper for him and he gamboled after it, playing in a way he hasn't been up for in a long time. You were delighted, and squealed and flapped your arms in excitement, and threw the slipper again. Then when I said "Milo says woof woof," you said "woof" and smiled. 

You have also said something like "umreah" while playing with one of your umbrellas. Umbrellas are your favorite. You use a large black one that I got at the Guggenheim gift shop one suddenly rainy day in Manhattan years ago as a pretend vacuum cleaner, sweeping its tip over the floor with singular dedication and focus. You also like the rainbow one your father got you for Christmas, with your name embroidered on it. But your very favorite is the hot pink one mini one with the duck head handle that we keep in the car. "Uck," you say when I slip it onto your lap. You pet the duck head as you drift off to sleep on our drive to Beverly for you to go to Montessori. I rather love that your snuggle transitional object is a hot pink duck umbrella. You love the duck face, and you love the bright color when we occasionally have to open it over your head. You throw your head back and smile up into the bright pinkness with delight. 

You know lots of words that you can't say yet, like parts of your body (feet, arms, tummy, head), items of clothing (shirt, hat, pants, socks, shoes), colors too I think. You know the names of all your teachers and classmates in Willow room. You say "Baa" when we play with little toy sheep, and you've tried to say "moo," but you know which toy is a cow and which is a pig and which is a sheep and which is a horse. I mean, I know everyone learns these things, but it still astonishes me. When we were reading a book I pointed at one part of the page and said "there's the mama," and you pointed at me. Then I said "there's the daddy," and you pointed to your dad. And then I said "And this is the baby. Who is the baby?" and you pointed at yourself. Mindblown. You have a concept of yourself. You have a self. 

And that is where things stand, at not quite 16 months.