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- Sara




December 8, 2009

Dear Henry

Unbelievably, you’ll be 19 months old in a couple of hours.  It seems like yesterday that I was pregnant and only allowed to shop at Motherhood.  Still feels a bit weird to be able to wear whatever I want :-).

There a few things that I’d like to remember about this time in your life.  And even though I try to make up stories so that I will remember things better, I know I won’t really be able to….  I’m sure there are good reasons why we can’t remember things just the way they were, but sometimes it’s just so sad to think that I won’t be able to picture you at the height you are today.  You are just a bit taller than the bottom of the refrigerator door, so I’ve got to be careful not to knock you in the head every time I open and close it.

You’re still nursing.  I wasn’t sure I wanted you to still be nursing at 19 months.  Somehow it just happened.  And it’s so very cute when you look at me and say ‘num-num, num-num’.  How can I resist that?  

You LOVE pasta.  Any kind, any shape.  Plain, without any sauce, is your favorite way to eat them, but if you’re hungry enough you’ll eat it with most sauces.  Tonight for dinner, I made a simple red sauce with chicken and ziti.  As soon as the ziti was cooked, you HAD to have a plate full.  And another. And another.  I think you ate more noodles then me and Dad!  Every time you finished what was on the plate, you’d pick it up with both hands and turn to me (from your chair at the table), with an open mouth, your sign that you’d eaten it all and ‘uh, uh’, that you needed more.

You are not a man of many words.  Ball.  Ma.  Hot.  Up.  But, let me tell you, you sure do have a lot to say! All day, you never stop telling me something, asking me to do something for you, asking where someone is. And amazingly, I know exactly what you say/want.  All you wanted me to do today was to pick up the orange ball and throw it in the air.  Over and over.  While you carried around a balloon (the kind with the rubber band on one end) and bopped me with it.

Grama commented the other day that I was the only person that could get away with tying a ribbon around the handles on the cabinet (the set under the sink).  You just don’t get into things.  Especially if I’ve told you not to.  You do love to get into the other set of cabinets, though, and pull out the vegetable steamer and splatter screens.  About two days ago you figured out where I keep the pots and pans.  And since then you’ve dragged the smaller ones out and on to the floor.  But that’s about it 😉

You really love dental floss and toothbrushes.  We have at least ten toothbrushes floating around and every time we do something in the bathroom, you must have a piece of floss 🙂  It’s a good thing, though, as you have a million teeth 🙂

Oh, how could I forget.  You’ve started throwing fits.  I can’t think of a better term for them, but what I mean is when you don’t get your way, lots of funny things happen.  For example:

We were getting ready to go to Dad’s Christmas program at church and I thought it’d be nice if you wore your new jeans.  I put them on you.  You pulled at them and made faces.  I thought, well, they’re new, I’ll just put his sweat pants back on.  You didn’t want to wear those either.  Too bad, the sweat pants were staying.  Next came the shoes.  We always put shoes on before we leave.  Mommy puts her shoes on, Henry puts his shoes on.  Not today. No, Henry didn’t want to wear shoes.  I decided we could put the shoes on later.  But we did need a coat or fleece, and since it was chilly out and we were going to the church where it’s often chilly inside, I opted for a pullover sweater/fleece thing.  But you didn’t want me to put it on you.  No, not at all.  So, right here, in the kitchen, you attempted to take it off, all the while crying and screaming and stomping your cute little feet.  The fleece had to stay on, so I went about getting things ready and making sure you didn’t stomp yourself into the kitchen island.  We make it, stomping and screaming to the door where you refuse to move.  I pick you up, the whole time telling you we’re going to the church to see Caleb and Ashley and William and Daddy and whoever else I thought you might like to see.  Not a bit of my talking helped.  You’re still screaming.  Of course, you can guess that the carseat was not something you wanted to sit in.  Nope.  That took a lot of arm strength and more talk about where we were going and what music I would turn on.  Most of the way to church (1.5 miles) you alternated between screaming and being nosey (I’d called Grama).  As soon as we got to church, you were a new man.  Lots of smiles and couldn’t wait to read books with Caleb…

I have a million more stories.  And you’re only 19 months old.  Hopefully, I’ll remember some of them.  Right now, I’m headed to bed, to cuddle with you…

Love, Mom


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