fifteen months

Dear Ox,
The other day I got it into my head that you needed a haircut, so every time you sat in your high chair I would sneak behind you with my scissors and take small clips. You would hear the noise of the cut and turn your head, but then I would distract you with yogurt. I was a speedy haircut ninja and by the end of the day I think it looked pretty good.

With the summer sun your hair has gotten blonder and blonder and redder too so that you look more and more like your daddy's baby pictures and then one day I looked at you and realized that I do have a blonde child after all.

You finally started walking about a month ago and now you squawk and laugh as you chase Lucy all over the house. There is a small plastic slide in front of our house that all the neighborhood kids love and you climb unassisted up the ladder, then slide unassisted all the way down. You want to climb on anything that moves and you're already showing more interest in your sister's balance bike than she ever has.

When I come up from working in the basement you run toward me with your arms pointed straight out for a hug. Esme saw you and said, "Oscar is really happy to see you." Your hugs are still a burrowing snuggle into the side of the neck. Just this week you learned to give me a puckering smack of a kiss, right on the lips.

You love me so much!

You also love to eat, eat, eat. Most things, really, but especially fruit, which is so fun because I've always wanted a baby who loves fruit. It also means that you and Lucy make a great berry picking team--she picks the berries off the bushes, and you devour them. We have two strawberry plants in the garden, and the berries rarely have time to get all the way red.

You're nowhere close to talking, but you picked up a sign: milk. For the rest of the things that you want, you communicate with pointing and a very assertive yell.

You love to fit things together (bubble wands, screw-top lids), to put things where they go (shoes, water bottles), and to throw almost anything. You love to play with the kids in the neighborhood, who sometimes fight over who knows what you want most  and who can make you laugh first. It's usually a short fight.

You glare at strangers, ducking under your second brow muscle as though it's a hood, but you have endless toothy smiles for the ones you love.

I love you! Happy fifteen months.

Love,
Mama