Four Months

Well, Cupcake, kiddo -- four months. It's been four months since you moved into our home and our hearts and made us all inside out and upside down and all a-twitter and turned our world on with your smile. We did it, we made it, we're all still standing, including the cats, who I think are actually starting to like you a little bit now, not that they'll ever admit it (except Owen, as long as you keep throwing Cheerios on the floor).

Every time we pass a milestone like this I want to write this big long missive about all the tiny little ways you've changed this month, but at your age right now I just can't do it, because every day you learn something new and it's like you're a different, better, new and improved little person. Each new word is like a whole new world -- let me tell you, kid, I am old, I been around for quite a while, and I have never seen anything like it. You never cease to amaze. I just can't keep up with you, but I keep on trying.

But this is a Very Big Deal, an event that needs to be celebrated and commemorated somehow, so I have decided to list the four things about you that haven't changed about you, and why I love them. I mean, you know we love every single thing about you, from the curl in your eyelashes to the freckle on your foot and everything in between -- these things are just my favorites right now:

(1) I love the way you eat everything in front of you. You are a fearless kid, and I admire that about you. All the gross things that Mommy and Daddy won't eat? If it's on a plate, you'll give it a try. The olives off a slice of pizza, avocado, mushrooms, cantaloupe, spinach, shrimp -- half of those foods, we won't even touch, but you'll nosh that stuff right down. (Bonus points for the way you shove chunks of banana and cheese and grapes in your mouth, chipmunk-style. Until you have kids of your own, you will not appreciate how endlessly adorable that is.) I hope you aspire to something better in life than a career in competitive eating, but then again, nobody ever won Survivor or The Amazing Race by refusing to eat baluts or squid shooters. The point is: life is an adventure, and you are not afraid to face it head on, gastronomically speaking. Brava, signora!

(2) I love the way you imitate the things that other people do. While this might be a bad thing down the line (almost certainly), for now it is awesome, because we are teaching you new things without you even knowing you're learning anything. All kids are mimics, but you seem to be cognizant of the things we want you to learn, and so you soak up the knowledge like a sponge. Everyone is impressed by how you say "more" in sign language (that's why you'll always be the girl with the most cake). People are stunned to see you walking backwards perfectly without falling or hesitating. And when they see you in the pool ... well, let's just say that Operation Ariel was a great success, and now sometimes I would like to figure out how to turn you back into a landlubber without the interference of some goober prince.

(3) I love the way you talk talk talk all the time, even though I never have the foggiest idea what you are saying. Listening to you try to repeat after us is never going to be tiresome, even if it means that I have to come up with creative new "curse" words now, because I don't want you kicked out of kindergarten. I mean, there are appropriate times, places, and parts of speech for the F-word, and since I'm a word nerd you will of course learn to use it correctly in a sentence at some point, but I think we can wait until you're 10 or so. That's about when I learned it, anyhow. (And since I'm being completely honest here, let me cut right to the chase and tell you that when I call you a "little booger"? I really mean you are being a shit. Someday you'll thank me for this, although it will probably be when you call me a "belligerent old hag," by which you will really mean I am being a bitch. But you will be nice to me anyway, or else you will get no inheritance, because I am kind of a bitch like that.)

(4) I love the way you dance, freely and openly and indiscriminately and with complete abandon. You will dance to anything, and I love it. Dunkin Donuts commercials scored by They Might Be Giants? Check. Pussycat Dolls on the radio? Check. That obnoxious music that the ice cream truck plays? Check. It doesn't even have to be music -- I am pretty sure I caught you be-bopping the other day to nothing, some tune in your head that only you could hear. Let me tell you, though, that you are actually a good dancer, not like Mommy (who dances like an aging decrepit sorostitute in a dive college bar) or Daddy (who is not bad but still sometimes does the White Man Overbite and refuses to do the Macarena). Also: double bonus points for humoring me and stomping around and just rocking the hell out to "Godzilla."

So, that's it for today. Everyday I love you more -- these are just the things that I love the most, right this very second. We are very proud of you, and so happy, because you have made us proud of ourselves, because when we see you in action, we can see that you are smart and happy and friendly and wonderful and awesome, and maybe that's just the way you are, but hopefully some of that comes from us.

Love you, kiddo. More than yesterday, but not as much as tomorrow. Never as much as tomorrow. XOXO, Mommy.