More words!

 "I sit," sometimes announcing that you will perch on this stool or this stair step. 

"Mama sit," patting the kitchen stool next to your tower so that I will sit by you while you have a snack.

"I tired!" Repeated last night in the shower after a long day playing at school, and then at the pool, and then riding in the launch to pick me up at Menage after a Wednesday night sailboat race. I loved seeing you both in the boat coming to get me. You were surprised to find me on a sailboat in the middle of the harbor, but only mildly.

"House"

"Tree"

"Book"

"Ah-er" (otter, for the little stuffed animal that has joined us in the big bed the past several weeks. Sometimes Otter also needs nursing, and you will hold him up to one boob while you are on the other, and it is basically the cutest thing possible.)

"Smooch!"

"Balloon"

"Walk"

"Boat"

"Iss Uth" (Miss Ruth, our neighbor)

"E-i" (Uncle Eli)

"Enny" (Jenny, Eli's girlfriend)

"Bine" (Brian, your godlessfather)

"In-gee" (Ginger, your godlessmother)

"Chas" (Charles!)

"Harp"

"Cracker"

"Goggles" (!)

"Trash"

Signs for "please" and "thank you," largely when prompted. Also putting dirty clothes in the hamper with great excitement. 

Jumping up with two feet together, and finding things to jump off of as practice for the "bi bo" (big board, the diving board at the swimming pool)

Though general term of approval is still "Guck," which we joke means "Good AF"

Rainy Day

 I am supposed to be working, Succotash, but I am so tired. Even though we both slept well last night. It was actually kind of wonderful, now that the AC actually works up there, to be almost cold and cuddle up with you under the comforter. I can still clearly conjure the sensation of your tiny baby feet pressing under this one rib on my right side, and I enjoy feeling your growing toddler feet kneading me in a similar way as you sleep. Sometimes your eyelashes flutter against my neck as you dream.

So it's time for me to turn my attention to the next book. Past time, really. And if I were good I would also turn my attention back to your baby book, which was so unceremoniously cut off when we fled the pandemic. I want to write in it about what happened, and fill back in all the milestones that I have been tracking for you on this blog. Who knows what will happen to this blog, after all, though I am hoping your father might print it up for our bookshelf as he did with Incremental Degrees. I know I'm going to devote all of September to caring for you, and shepherding our move back to the big city. I am anxious about it, though I have no idea why. I'm afraid you won't like the change, but given how beautifully you have been doing in your new toddler classroom it's entirely possible that I don't give you enough credit for being adaptable and curious about new experiences. I'm sure the anxiety is all mine. But anxious I am.

You said many new things this weekend - Gingee (Aunt Ginger), "front pocket" for your overalls, "tree." I'm starting to lose count, which is pretty exciting. "Pool," "big board." You want sailing again, and it went mostly well, with only some meltdown in the last fifteen minutes or so. You had much more fun at the pool. 

So. Why am I having so much angst about working today? I'm reading a primary source, and I'm thinking, and fretting. Perhaps I've forgotten that this is just my process. I think and fret for a long time and then there's a flurry of productivity. And I guess if the manuscript is late, then it's late. We shall see.

Mainly I feel poised on the edge of a precipice, anxious about moving forward, afraid of the sound of wind in my ears as I fall, with my arms around you trying to keep you safe.

New Sign

 I almost forgot - you have added a sign, that is a finger pointing into the palm of your hand, which means "I want to play with that." You see basketballs. Point at basketball, point into palm of hand. Another kid playing with a bike? Point at bike, point into palm of hand.

You also say "ball" a lot, and "bah ball" for basketball. 

And while you and I both had croup you discovered the pleasures of vintage episodes of Mister Rogers. You especially like the jazzy musical interludes, to which you often dance, bopping your head in rhythm. You are less interested in the industrial films, which show how blankets are made, or dolls. (I never knew what a pro-American industry bent Mister Rogers had until now.)

Birch Class

 A big weekend for you, my Succotash. We just had a four day long visit with another mother and toddler, younger than you and less verbal. For the most part it went well, but you are still learning not to shove in the chest when you want more space, or whap over the head if you want his attention. You shared all toys, your stroller, many clothes, and your parents' attention, and overall I would say you did very well, but given that you are 1 3/4 years old, "very well" still means it often was a challenging time. But they have rolled off in one piece, and this morning you ventured, with lunchbox and backpack with changes of clothes and galoshes and a blanket for nap, into your toddler classroom for the very first time.

I was very proud of you. You recognized which door to go to, and greeted your teacher, and walked in straightaway with your eyes on an activity that you wanted to do. I think I was worrying about it, because last night you slept comalike either curled into my armpit or sprawled in the bed like a sea anemone while I lay awake staring at the ceiling until around 1:30 in the morning, worrying about everything and nothing. I hit it all - your grandmother, our move back to the city in September, your aunt, the day you were born and all that happened, the book that's about to come out, our apartment, the value of our apartment, the installation of a temporary wall in our apartment, how you will adjust to our apartment, how you will sleep in our apartment, if it's even worth having a temporary wall if you're just going to sleep with us, potty training, how to join the playroom at Scandinavia house, the book I'm about to try to write, the dealie I have to fix on the boat, how full the bilge is on the boat, and on and on and on into the darkness. It had been awhile since I lay awake like that, tabulating my anxieties. I wasn't aware that I was worried about your starting a new classroom at school, but the relief I felt as you walked inside tells a different story.

You are talking more too - "school," "bear," "this is," "that is," "that truck," "I uv" (I love you), "baboo" (booboo), "waffles," "buh bo" (big board - the diving board at the pool, with which you are obsessed, and which you have jumped off once, with Daddy's help, giving me a heart attack, and which you are practicing for by finding manageable curbs and jumping off them with a look of sublime bravery and delight), "boob," "good Daddy," "Daddy! Daddy!" (shouted down the stairs if L goes down to let out Milo while we are getting dressed). You share your mother's reticence about getting out of bed in the morning. You don't like to be rushed. You want your snuggles and maybe a book and to just take it easy for a bit - the toddler version of wanting to linger over your coffee before starting your day. 

You are also taken to squatting pretty predictably and being aware when your baby bowels are moving, which makes me think potty training for real might be coming up soon. I'm hoping Montessori will do it for us. But time will tell.