Fifteen Months

Dear Elizabeth,

How is it you are fifteen months already?

Wasn't it just yesterday you were this lumpy, new baby?



And didn't you used to have black hair?

I meant to write this when you turned one, but there was that birthday party and then your dad's birthday, and then they crammed all that stuff into the last week of school, oh, and you know, we moved. That was time consuming. And the unpacking. Ay. The unpacking. So, I'm three months late. You are the third child. I think it's something you'll need to get used to.

You started walking at thirteen months and it took you a month to master it. Where the boys took their steps and were running by the end of the day, you took your sweet time trying to decide if it was worth it. I think maybe you were waiting for your shoes because you must have your shoes on all. day. long. I see you admiring yourself in them in the mirror and tapping them on the hard floor with such joy on your face. Shoes. Who knew?

You've been signing for about six months now, but for the past few weeks you've been talking, too. The words you say are: Mama, Daddy, Am (Adam), Bub-bub (Jacob), kee (kitty), shoes, poo (pool), ba (bath), pees (please), mine, yes, and this. This is your catch phrase. You point at things and ask "this?" to ask about things you want to know about and you say "this!" if you see something you must have. It is very cute even in the grocery store when you're screaming at the cookies at the top of your lungs disturbing the old bitty ladies who are trying to shop in peace. I know you are saying other words, I just haven't figured them out yet.



The cell phone is the one way I can quell your screaming in public places.

You are a teeny peanut of a girl. You're still wearing six month clothes and size two diapers and your shoes are size three. I bought lots of pretty twelve and eighteen month dresses on super-duper clearance last summer that I would love to see you wear some day. You'd look mighty silly wearing a tropical sun dress in the middle of winter, girl, but if that's the way it has to be, so be it. At least your little self can still fit easily into the sling because that's your favorite way to travel. I love to carry you in the sling and I know I'll be sad when you get too big for it.



Fridge DJ is your favorite toy. Now that you can't play with it on the refrigerator (dern stainless!) you carry it around with you. You have figured out how to find your favorite tune and when you do, you stop and dance to it. The boys never did figure out how to dance. Maybe it's a girl thing? You are also very fond of underwear. This worries me just a bit.



You are more of a monkey than both the boys combined. I must watch you with an eagle eye or else who knows where you might end up. You climb out of strollers, high chairs, grocery carts, and once, the car seat. I still don't know how you maneuvered that one. Your wily peanutiness serves you well young padawan, but please stop doing it in public places because the authorities may start calling if the old ladies have anything to say about it.



And please baby, baby, please stop doing that. It isn't funny.

My dear girl. Sixteen months ago I had convinced myself that you were a boy and I was happy. My three sons. I was ready. I didn't need a girl. I cried when the doctor said you were a girl. Mostly because I was hormonally thrilled, but partly because I was scared to death. What would I do with a girl? Well, I'm still trying to figure that out, but sweet Goose, honestly, what would I have done without you girl?

Don't grow up too fast.

Lub, Mama