Dear Miles,

This month has been full of first for you.  You made your first international trip (super fun), you learned to climb things really well (fun for you, scary for us), and you had your first significant illness (fun for no one except the makers of infants’ Tylenol and ibuprofen).

First, the obligatory sleep report:  you’re doing much better.  You’ve been taking good naps in your crib, and one time this month you slept in your crib for six straight hours.  Last night was good—you stayed in your crib for quite a while, and then when you joined us, you slept pretty peacefully.  In fact, I don’t even remember the last time you woke up hysterically crying, which used to happen a lot.

This is good news, my dear.

On vacation, we had a king-sized bed, and that was great for our co-sleeping gang.  When we got home, our mere queen-sized bed felt small, but we’re getting used to it again.  I always said I didn’t like king-sized beds because they’re lonely, even when someone else is there.  I clearly had never slept with a sprawly toddler.  I think, rather than upgrade beds, we’ll work on getting you to sleep in your crib more, but we’re really just figuring it out as we go.

Isn’t it always like that?  Several sets of friends have had babies lately (or will soon), most of them for the first time, and it’s interesting to remember what life was like when we were in their position.  You can read as much as you want and make all kinds of decision about how you’ll handle things, and then when it comes down to it, you just wing it.

Speaking of wings (weak segue, sorry), you did pretty well on our recent plane rides.  You got a little whiny, but you had no heavy-duty freak-outs.  At one point before takeoff, you were playing at your dad’s feet, and your pants fell around your ankles.  That greatly amused the people sitting across the aisle.

You’re a tad on the skinny side, and sometimes your clothes droop.  You’d been at the fiftieth percentile for both height and weight ever since you caught up from your early-and-smallish beginning, but at this last doctor’s appointment, you had dropped to 25th percentile in weight.  The doctor wasn’t too concerned; she said this is the age when kids settle into the body types they’ll have their whole lives.  It’s obvious that you’re getting long and lean.  It makes me feel less guilty about the fact that they only way I can get you to drink milk is to offer you a 50/50 plain-and-chocolate blend.

You’re definitely less easy to manipulate than you used to be.  You are asserting strong preferences and dislikes, and you are an expert in both the ASL sign for more and a vehement head shake of disgust.  For the record, here are your current turn-ons and turn-offs:

You like:

• Raisins
• Juice/water blend administered from a medicine dropper (this was my brilliant idea after you kept demanding more Tylenol and ibuprofen drops)
• Going down the slide at the playground
• Being outside in general—a quick way to turn a bad mood around for you is a trip outdoors
• Climbing into chairs, onto the hearth, onto the CPU your dad has in front of the bookshelf…pretty much anything scalable.



• Your care provider, Jessa.  We’re sad/happy to report that Jessa’s husband has gotten a job in another town, so we need to look for another caregiver for you.  It will be hard to beat Jessa and her little boy, Jonah.  You snuggle into her shoulder when we leave in the morning, and it makes me feel so relieved that you have someone to care for you whom you love so much.  Let’s hope the next person is as good.
• Turning on my clock radio and dancing to the music
• Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons
• High-end digital cameras

You dislike:

• Having your hair washed.  This is a new thing.  You were always great about leaning back for a hair rinse, but lately, you’ve decided it is absolutely unacceptable.  It’s a shame, because it puts a real damper on bath time.
• Accidentally turning on the printer.  It scares the bejeezus out of you.
• Locked or closed doors, especially when you can see the outdoors  on the other side.
• Having your efforts thwarted.

The “likes” list is a lot longer than the “dislikes,” isn’t it?  You’ve really been a fun kid lately, except for this last week when you were sick, but that wasn’t your fault.  We think you had roseola, which is a common and minor childhood illness with some scary symptoms (3-5 days of high fever—103.9F in your case—followed by a full-body rash).  Luckily, you’re pretty much back to your old self now, eating raisins by the fistful and scrambling around outside with your dad this very minute.

You discovered your love of raisins while we were in the Bahamas.  It was a wonderful trip, with mostly great weather, a comfortable condo, and easy access to all we needed:  the pool and the beach were right out our doorstep, and it was just a short drive to a grocery store, restaurants, shops, and activities.  You ate and enjoyed cracked conch, a Bahamian specialty I ordered and shared with you.  You also ate a lot of cereal, which is our go-to food whenever we can’t think of what else to give you.  We’d never gotten a raisiny cereal before, but the options were a little limited at the grocery store, and all for the better.  You became a raisin maniac.

You didn’t like the beach or ocean a whole lot at first.  The water was a little rough for you, and you didn’t like the feeling of sand on your bare feet.  By the end of the trip you’d gotten used to it, though, and you even ate some sand.  You had lots of fun in the pool, and you mostly did a good job keeping your sun hat on.  You charmed many, many restaurant waitstaff with your blown kisses and gimme-fives.

It was a good first international trip—close to home, easy to manage, and relaxing.  I can’t wait for our next adventure together.

I can see you out the window right now, your little arm stretched up to hold your dad’s hand.  Your yummy-yummy-chub thighs, while still undeniably yummy, are getting less chubby.  You take after your father in that.  Your big blue eyes are as beautiful as always, but they’re lighting up a little boy face now instead of a baby face.

Oh, you just blew me a kiss.

Thank you, sweetheart.  You’re my number one boy forever.

Love,

Mommy