Newsletter: Aspen Month Nineteen

Dear Aspen,

Today you turned nineteen months old and just today, when I referred to you as 'Baby', did it really dawn on me that you are not as much a baby as you are a full fledge toddler who is not at all afraid to speak her mind.You spent much of the past month sick, which is not at all uncommon for this time of year. The virus we caught was a doozy - one that included lung medication and the first round of antibiotics you have ever taken - it was touch and go for a few days both your brother and you were really sick. But, like all bad things, it passed.

This past month have continued to increase your vocabulary, in fact, you even speak in sentences. Full sentences. Aspen, you never cease to amaze me. Your favorite sentence is "Where is Daddy" Then I have to break the news gently, "Working. Daddy is working." You always respond with an enthusiastic, "Oh!", as if this was the exact answer you had been seeking and were only asking to see if I was paying attention, yes Aspen, I am always paying attention.

Recently you have started to cry when I drop you off at daycare. This little stage has blindsided me, until a week or two ago I could set you down give you a hug and a kiss and off you would go to play. NOT. ANY. MORE. Aspen, you want nothing to do with me leaving you anywhere, in fact, you want me to do nothing but hold you whenever you are near me and as sweet and as precious as this is, sometimes a mama wants nothing more than a few seconds to put on a pair of panties.

I know this stage will come and go and return again and there will be a time that I only wish you wanted me to hold you and I'd promise to wear dirty panties for the rest of my life to have these moments back, but, at this very moment this stage is ripping my heart out, because, ya know, leaving your child screaming is never a good way to start off a day. As a mother, you arm yourself before leaving the car, you prep yourself for the meltdown, you gage the entry, you can tell your child senses the fear, you quickly say your goodbyes, hoping the meltdown is contained and possibly not even started until after the door shuts, you wave good-bye with a smile while a small piece of you dies inside and you just try to remember that your daughter loves the kids and has nothing but fun and that upon your return, she cries because she has to go home.

From the previous paragraph I think it is safe to say you are all female and have a flare for the dramatic - you cry because I leave, you cry because I pick you up and you whine, a lot. But I am just chalking it all up to your age because your communication, albeit quite advanced in my opinion, still leaves a bit to be desired. In fact, you have been speaking in sentences for quite some time now but the sentences were complete gibberish - now it is only 60% Gibberish, 20% Spanish and 20% English - I blame Dora.

One thing is for certain you keep both your father and I grounded - we hope in the future you will keep both feet firmly on the ground while trying to navigate through this crazy world knowing both your father and I adore you!

Love,
Mama