thirty-one months

"Look at me, look at me, doing this thing!"

Dear Lucy,

Sometime in the last month the really trying period of the previous few months ended, and you are back to being about 95% delightful. Last weekend you were so much fun all day long. You, of course, still have your naughty naughty happy happy girl moments, dropping cereal on the couch because you like the way your feet tickle when you pick it up, splashing water out of the bathtub while you pretend to be "a master" when I step out of the bathroom to look for a towel.

But it's more of the mischievous naughty that makes me smile than the kind that makes me want to hide in my room where you can't find me.

Your interest in music has exploded and you keep adding to the list of favorites, making playlists in your head. When we get in the car, it's usually either: "Phoenix, then Florence, then the boom-boom Adele, then the other Adele"; or, lately, "Neil Young, the first two, Tell Me Why then the Nighttime song". You are so interested in the the melody ("this is a slow part, I like the fast part") and the words ("Florence has a lot of words, Phoenix has a little words"), making up nicknames for the songs and just really paying attention; every observation you make squeezes your daddy's heart like it's fit to burst.

Yesterday in the car you started singing the words to what you have dubbed "The Nighttime Song", and your dad and I were just sitting in the front seat, trying not to make a single noise that called attention to the amazing thing happening in the back seat, your high ethereal voice hovering just behind Neil Young's as you echoed the lyrics.

" . . . knights in armor . . . about a queen . . . "
" . . . drummers drumming and the archer split the sky . . . "
" . . . floating on the breeze . . . Mother Nature on the run . . . "
" . . . the yellow haze of the sun . . . "

You requested the song again when it was over, and again, and of course we giddily obliged.

You've been spending more time with Nana and Papa lately while we fit in some new baby activities and one late-night concert, and you're becoming more confident. At the park you climbed right up to the big slide, sat down, and slid right down; up until recently you always second-guessed yourself at the top and asked for at least a hand. This time, at the bottom, you yelled: "That was fun! I did it all by myself! I didn't need ANYONE'S hand!"

I find myself just staring at you often, as you create more or less elaborate games of pretend: trying to fit all your babies and stuffed animals into your toy stroller, assigning each of the more important characters with one of the less important ones as their personal lovey; standing on a chair in the kitchen to make me a latte, tamping down the used ground coffee just like daddy does; sitting at the table telling stories to yourself while I sneak up behind and try to listen; laying on the couch and pretending to sleep.

I didn't have a chance to know her well, but your daddy's grandmother had a saying that was popular in the family: I'm proud to know you. I know you're only two and a half, but that's exactly how I feel these days.

Lucy Mabel, I am so proud to know you.

Love,
Mama