Year One (And a little bit)

Dear Henry,

The majority of this letter was written by your dad, because he got fed up with my procrastination.  I think the reason I have kept putting it off is because I am in denial that you are getting so big so fast.  I can’t believe that you turned a year old in February and I don’t want to admit that the time keeps marching on.

Anyhow, I’ll turn it over to Dad now…

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Well son, nearly two months ago you turned one year old.  You had a birthday party with family from both sides in attendance.  You shoveled handfuls of frosting into your mouth from a cute yeti cake prepared by one of my former teacher friends.  I imagine your mother will attach an image.

 When she last posted, you had just started to stand hands free for brief moments and climb stairs.  In the months that have followed, standing has become a cinch for you, and you began taking your first steps. You can now cross our tiny kitchen with ease.  While you still enjoy climbing the stairs, and, every once and a while, even attempt to go back down them; you often hang a left coming out of the living room now and head off to the kitchen instead.  I promise you, there is nothing good in the garbage can, no one ever wants to go down to the basement, and we're pretty sure Taco's food isn't that good (though we haven't tasted it).

Speaking of the stairs, your mother and Grandpa Schmidt hung a safety gate at their top.  Our concern was that you would eventually escape the crib or bed and go off in search of adventure.  You've since shown us that you can slide under the gate.  We stopped you before you fully escaped.  We'd like to think your giant head would have at least gotten stuck if we hadn't, not that that's good parenting.

Shopping for your birthday at this age was a bit tricky.  You're just starting to develop interests.  Most of the television programming you soak up is from PBS.  You've shown a regular awareness in Thomas and Friends, stopping what you're doing when you hear the theme song.  You've fallen asleep on both your mother's and my chest while watching an episode. The music is on the playlist we have to soothe you when you're in a foul mood.  We'll sing it to you in a pinch.   You've amassed a small selection of Thomas and Friends toys.  You'll bring us the big blue engine sometimes when you want us to put an episode on the TV.  Your mother and I have got a pretty good working understanding of the Island of Sodor at this point. 

You also seem to like Curious George.  I try to sneak in more subversive cartoons where I can.

Your mother noted that you like to fiddle with the old fashioned latch that locks the powder room door.  For your birthday she got you a puzzle with all sorts of fastens on it.  Still, for a period of time, Taco's toys were your favorite items.  For several months when you were younger you got great pleasure out of her "cat's meow" (Heather should include a hyperlink here).  Then, for a couple weeks, you carried around her feather stick like a scepter.

You enjoy music, and you're fairly impartial. You'll wiggle, dance and clap for the latest pop tunes, classical music played through your toys, or those nonsensical songs some intern wrote and recorded for V-Tech.  "I'm popping up to say, we're going on a triiiiip, don't forget to pack your thiiiings!" or "I'm popping up to say spagetti-clap, I love riding down the track".  It's actually "clickety clack", but it took us a few weeks to make sense of it.

You eat real food now, as well as leaves and rocks and anything else you can find.  You're pretty good at spitting it back out when someone says "What's in your mouth?!"   You've got a real thing for vegetables, you seem to prefer them over meat, starches and fruit.    Your mother likes to pretend that this preference is somehow a reflection of our awesome parenting, but deep down, she knows it's just dumb luck.

We shared a few Shamrock shakes over the month of March.  You've also had some of your Grandma Hayworth's brownies now.  You know, Ms. Suga.

You can ride in a cart now, though your mother still prefers to carry you in one of her baby wearing devices. 

When we updated your car seat right after your birthday it marked a real change in your car riding demeanor. Car rides used to lead to a bad case of the screamies, but now that you can sit upright and see more of the world around you, you're much more chill.

Just before spring came, we had one last great bout of snow which let us take you outside in the fluffy snow suit your great aunt Joanne got you.  You crawled around in our back yard. This would be another great place for your mom to include a photo.

 Since the weather has changed, we've enjoyed going to the park with you.  You seem to enjoy the swings, hobbling around on the woodchips and scaling the equipment.   We've got photos of these too, but your mother says she's "not my secretary."

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It’s Mama again.  Your father’s right.  I am not his secretary.  But I will retroactively add those photos anyway and wrap this letter up.

I’m beginning to understand what everyone means when they say that your kids are “always your baby.”  Because even though you are not such a squishy baby and have become a toddler who is all arms and legs, I still think of you as that tiny baby that I stared at, slack-jawed, in complete awe of the human being that we managed to create.  I don’t know that you ever get past that feeling.  I hope you will always know that your father and I are so very completely, unendingly proud of the curious little dude you are (and you are still statistically kind of little) and that we love you more than anything forever and for always.

Love,

Mama and Dad