Dear Miles,

“Daddy Mi night-night!”

“One two ee oh igh!”

“Uh-oh doggy eyeball.”

This has been the month of sentence-building.  You don’t always have all the parts of speech in the places one might expect, but you’re getting really good at verbalizing what you experience.  Tonight at the dinner table, your dad and I were having pizza, and you were having some extra shredded cheese in a cup.  You looked at your dad’s plate and said “Daddy pizza.”  Then you looked at my plate and said “Mommy pizza.”  Then you looked at your tray and said “Mi chee!”

You’ve also embraced the idea that people can have more than one name.  Tonight I walked into the play room, and you were sitting on the floor, playing with your Magnadoodle (which you call your I-O, since those are your two favorite letters to write on it).  You were murmuring “A-pull Mommy, Denny Daddy.”  You’re also getting good at saying your own name.  You still like to call yourself Mi, but now and then you’ll make it to Mile.  The s still eludes you, but your doctor said it’s nothing to worry about.  She was too busy being impressed that you noticed there were two d’s on the cover of the book she gave you.

Now that the Christmas and birthday excitement have died down, we’re all getting kind of antsy for winter to be over.  We’ve gone out to play in the snow a few times, which you love, but nowhere near as often as we go out when it’s nice outside.  I think it’s hard on you.  You run up and down the hallway.  You dance like the floor’s on fire.  You’ve recently taken an interest in the Beach Boys, and the change of pace is great, but it makes me crave sunshine and the sea even more.

While we’re stuck inside, we find ways to stay busy.  You are very, very proficient at using my iPhone.  Last week we made an unexpected call to Uncle Tyler—you got a concerned look on your face, and I checked to see what you had done. It was dialing.  Since we’d gotten that far, we went ahead and waited for him to pick up and chatted with him a little.  That’s one of the more pleasant surprises that has resulted from you messing with my phone.  I didn’t like it so much when you changed my wallpaper to something stupid.  I’m sure there are other Easter eggs waiting for me, and I’ll find them as I get around to my lesser-used apps.

We have begun some very gentle potty training, or it might be better described as potty familiarizing.  You got a potty seat for your birthday, the kind that fits on a regular toilet, and you’ve sat on it a few times.  You’re okay with it as long as you’re fully clothed.  You don’t like it so much nude (or, as you would say, “Nuuuuuuuu”).  Maybe you don’t quite get the concept yet.

You don’t get to be nude much these days, since it’s cold out and you don’t have a lot of body fat.  At your doctor’s appointment, we found out that you’re between the 75th and 90th percentile for height, but below 50th for weight.  That’s not necessarily a problem—it’s probably just your build.  But the mommy in me (which is basically my entire me) feels a compulsion to feed you, so you often find me chasing you around with fruit and cereal and turkey and ABC cookies.

I’ve noticed a jump in your ability to understand more complex ideas this month.  You’re starting to get “If x, then y” propositions.  For example, in the bathtub, you don’t like leaning back to have your hair rinsed.  You do, however, like getting extra hot water added.  After asking you several times to lean back so I could rinse your hair, and after you refused several times, I told you, “If you lean back and let me rinse your hair, you can have more water.”

Plop.  Back you went with no argument.  Ten seconds later, your hair was clean and you were upright again, enjoying the stream of hot water from the faucet.

Really, you have been a delight to hang out with lately.  You haven’t been throwing hardly any tantrums, and you’re funny and affectionate.  It’s so satisfying to see you be able to communicate better, how proud you are of yourself when you make an observation.  You always know exactly what you mean, and sometimes it’s frustrating when your dad and I can’t understand you, but we usually figure it out.

Your sleeping has gotten a lot better too.  We think we’re going to convert your crib into a big boy bed soon, and in preparation, your dad has changed your night-night routine so that you fall asleep in the guest room bed, and then he moves you to your crib.  You seem to really love it.  Sometimes I can hardly get through milk, stories, and tooth-brushing before you’re scrambling to Daddy for night-night.  You still end up in our bed before the night is out, but that moment has been arriving later and later.  Besides, I don’t mind.  You’re awfully cuddly.

Happy last month of winter, Little Scoop.  We’ll make it.

Love,

Mommy