Avee, Almost 2
Dear Avee,
Tonight when we laid you down for bed you had a red oozing eye from whatever cold of the month you have contracted. Considering how much your nose is running, how much your eye has "run" and how many times you've sneezed today, I'm guessing you don't feel so hot. But you don't complain. You just upped your daily dosage of hugs and snuggled a little longer with whatever blanket you have managed to acquire. You offered a cheerful "Cake-coo!" to your dad when he gave you a medicine tablet.
You are terribly cute Avee. I know most children are, it's a fact---but there is something so charming about you, it's hard for me sometimes to take my eyes off of you. And you know it. And that just fascinates me all the more. You are this strange combination of being completely aware of what the grown-up world thinks is cute, and performing as you feel necessary, and being completely independent and marching entirely to the beat of your own drum.
You love to do sign language and know a considerable amount of signs. But rarely on demand. You hug and kiss me more than I have ever known a child to do in a day, but never on demand. You love your bed and take naps and go down most days and nights without a sound. But you always shake your head emphatically when I ask you if you are ready for bed.
You say "mmm-hmmmm" with the same inflection I do when I'm pretending to be listening to your brother or your dad, but I'm not. I strongly suspect you to are just pretending to listen and have already figured out the difference.
There is nothing you can't do. There is no surface you cannot get to. There is no can of Pringles too high, no cookie too far back. You are so much like a monkey with your climbing that you have taken to saying, "muh-key, muh-key" over and over as you scale our kitchen cupboards to get to that coveted yummy food I've tried to keep out of your reach.
Last week at the park you got yourself up a swinging rope so swiftly that I couldn't even get to you fast enough. Even I panicked a little, I who watch you climb, fall, scale, recover, conquer on an hourly basis. The woman I was talking to rushed alongside me to get to you. You were halfway to your next feat before we could bound the 5 and a half feet to "rescue" you. You are quite agile.
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This was an unfinished, unpublished post, but I loved the recount of who Avery was at the time.
Tonight when we laid you down for bed you had a red oozing eye from whatever cold of the month you have contracted. Considering how much your nose is running, how much your eye has "run" and how many times you've sneezed today, I'm guessing you don't feel so hot. But you don't complain. You just upped your daily dosage of hugs and snuggled a little longer with whatever blanket you have managed to acquire. You offered a cheerful "Cake-coo!" to your dad when he gave you a medicine tablet.
You are terribly cute Avee. I know most children are, it's a fact---but there is something so charming about you, it's hard for me sometimes to take my eyes off of you. And you know it. And that just fascinates me all the more. You are this strange combination of being completely aware of what the grown-up world thinks is cute, and performing as you feel necessary, and being completely independent and marching entirely to the beat of your own drum.
You love to do sign language and know a considerable amount of signs. But rarely on demand. You hug and kiss me more than I have ever known a child to do in a day, but never on demand. You love your bed and take naps and go down most days and nights without a sound. But you always shake your head emphatically when I ask you if you are ready for bed.
You say "mmm-hmmmm" with the same inflection I do when I'm pretending to be listening to your brother or your dad, but I'm not. I strongly suspect you to are just pretending to listen and have already figured out the difference.
There is nothing you can't do. There is no surface you cannot get to. There is no can of Pringles too high, no cookie too far back. You are so much like a monkey with your climbing that you have taken to saying, "muh-key, muh-key" over and over as you scale our kitchen cupboards to get to that coveted yummy food I've tried to keep out of your reach.
Last week at the park you got yourself up a swinging rope so swiftly that I couldn't even get to you fast enough. Even I panicked a little, I who watch you climb, fall, scale, recover, conquer on an hourly basis. The woman I was talking to rushed alongside me to get to you. You were halfway to your next feat before we could bound the 5 and a half feet to "rescue" you. You are quite agile.
************************************
This was an unfinished, unpublished post, but I loved the recount of who Avery was at the time.
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