Monday, March 19, 2012

Lucky 13

Dear Jasper,

You are thirteen months old and all toddler. You know how to get our attention and how to keep it. You know what gets under our skin and how to make us laugh. You are expressive with your eyes and mouth and voice and hands. Even your strong thighs. You are so good at telling us what you want and need that, when you can't get your point across right away, you get frustrated. It's hard when things get lost in translation.

You are a monkey. You climb on top of things, build towers of out anything you can find and dare to stand without holding on. But no steps yet. Not just yet. Your style is careful and calculated. When you do something, it's already been researched and then you take that milestone by storm. So every morning might be the morning. God, help us.

In Florida you became a one nap man. Now you conk out for three long, uninterrupted hours every day. You're a hibernating bear at high sun. And then you dazzle us in the swimming pool. You lean into our arms from the side, let us toss you around, climb the stairs and dunk your head.

The beach was a whole new adventure. Sand on your hands is, apparently, unacceptable. But you love to sit in the shade and you shake with joy when the ocean breeze cuts through your hair. You let me take you out in to the waves and you clung to my body with joy as the water rose higher and higher. Brave, boy! And then there are the birds. You point and wave and speak serious jabber to them, in awe of their squalking and swooping. Almost concerned, certainly curious.

For a moment, the whole upstairs level of the house is Jasper proof. I can leave you alone for a few minutes here and there. You explore. You find grown up things that intrigue you. I am glad for your safety and self-sufficiency. And then I'll find you climbing a bookcase and about to topple off your homemade tower of toys and bins. Uh oh.

The weather is turning and you are a hot blooded boy. So at home you lose your clothes. You play with cords and the tape measure in just a diaper. Your left shin is covered in light dirt from your dead leg crawl around the dusty porch. You bang measuring cups together to make music and read books to yourself until I wander in and join you.

Tonight we ate dinner in the backyard where you can drop food on the floor without getting a reaction from Mom and Dad. Whatever. You had gravy in your hair, so it was time for a bath. Water again - your favorite. So maybe that's why you put gravy in your hair...

Love, Mom

1 comment:

val said...

Awww, I miss him.

This keeps him close as he grows.

At Christmas I could hardly stand Abby without getting choked up.

A year before, she wasn't even born, and here she was so fully herself and participating.

Mmmm. Sweet miracles they are, come to our lives and hearts forever.

John jabbered at us in a foreign language until he was over two. He'd pause and laugh. We had no idea what he was talking about.

I can almost feel his skinny, wild body in my arms.

We have old VCR tapes, and the kids had one in the player last fall, and it was Dan. Even though I haven't heard his childhood voice in decades, I recognized it instantly.

This crazy baby is a friend of yours for life, and I love knowing that.

love, Val