Today is my 32nd birthday. I'm officially in my thirties. A thirty-something, that's me.
You, however, are only 15 months old, and if it was possible for you to become sweeter, you have.
This month you learned how to give and blow kisses, and you give both with a distinct "mmm-wa!"
You kiss me, your daddy, the pets, your toys, anything and everything. And, you blow kisses to everyone. Sometimes you miss your mouth and mmm-wa your forehead or your ear, but I think most people understand. You're just spreadin' the love, man.
This month I've had the pleasure of rocking you to sleep a few times, an unexpected delight.
Once you were old enough to soothe yourself to sleep, you preferred to do just that. No rocking for you, thank you very much.
It was hard for me, because I wanted to rock you, but independent sleeping was a skill I wanted you to learn, so reluctantly, I gave in.
But one morning last week when you woke up at 5:45, after letting you fuss for 15 minutes, I thought I'd go in and try to rock you back to sleep. Normally you'd wiggle your way out of my arms and start the day, but this time, this time, you fell asleep on my chest, and I slept too.
Your daddy came in at 7:15 to make sure we were both awake. We were. Your head resting on my shoulder. Your eyes open. Just enjoying each other's company in the quiet of the morning. It was lovely. Thank you for that.
The California Rileys came for three weeks this month and that means we've been spending most of our time at your grandparents' house. And by that I mean we've been eating, eating and eating. I swear I've gained ten pounds. (Okay, maybe not ten, but at least three!)
During their visit you discovered the joy of ice cream as we celebrated four April birthdays. And now we have to spell I-C-E-C-R-E-A-M, if you're within earshot.
I love that you love ice cream, though, because it gives me an excuse to eat dessert too! Your daddy is a killjoy when it comes to sweets. He just doesn't care for them. (I know, right?) And, he doesn't understand why I can't live without them. Isn't he sweet enough?
Um, no. No he is not. But, you are. My sweet, sweet child who loves sweets and will eat them with me.
Finally, I win.
Peyton and Savannah became your favorite cousins while they were here and I'm pretty sure Steve is now your favorite uncle. Although, they've gone back home, and at this stage in your life, it's out of sight, out of mind.
It doesn't take you long to learn people's names. You must have said "Steve", "Peyton" and "Savannah" a million times while they were here.
They'd walk into a room and you'd point and name. They'd leave the room and you'd call their name and follow. I think it's your way of showing love. Naming.
Hey, is that a love language? You know, instead of Words of Affirmation, Words of Information?
As soon as you wake up in the morning, you start pointing and naming. "Lucky, fan, light, Bear-Bear, Mama, Dada, toothbrush, globe, fish, door, etc..." Your daddy and I wait in anticipation at what you're going to point to and name next. It's your little ritual and it cracks us up every time.
Your Papa and Nonni surprised us with a visit this month and since it had been six months since you'd seen them, we weren't sure how you'd receive them. But, you were Mr. Congeniality, as usual.
You wasted no time in asking them to show you their belly buttons.
Belly buttons are your newest fascination and you must ask to see mine a hundred times a day. Not because mine's spectacular or anything, but simply because that's what you do.
You're like a dog who has to sniff the other dog's nether regions before becoming friends (or enemies). Except your body part of choice is a much cleaner, less stinkier one. And, you don't sniff of course, you just stick your finger in. Your daddy and I giggle like the Pillsbury Dough Boy, because well, that's what you do when someone sticks a finger in your belly button. It's automatic. You have no choice.
This activity happens countless times a day, even in the middle of the night.
Last night you woke up and when rocking didn't soothe you, I checked your diaper. Sure enough it was soaked. So as you're lying on the changing table in the dim light, you start saying "belly button, belly button, belly button".
Seriously Foster, in the middle of the night?
I had no choice but to show you my belly button before putting you back to bed. I wonder if you dreamt about my belly button. If so, I hope I had rock hard abs, not a six pack, that's too masculine, but flat and firm would be nice.
You have trouble finding your belly button, what with your pot belly and all, so I have to stick my finger in yours in order to point it out to you. And, you often get your belly button confused with another curious body part.
I hope by the time you're reading this you've figured that one out.
Last weekend, the first of May, was May Day, but here in Nashville, it was more like "mayday, mayday!"
We endured the Flood of 2010, what's now being called a thousand year flood. My heart aches for those who have lost their homes, their belongings, and heaven forbid, their loved ones. I'm afraid I don't have the words to express my condolences to those folks.
We had no damage, just a wet basement, and we owe our thanks to your daddy who siphoned the water out with a garden hose for two days. I cannot begin to tell you how hard he worked. That man is my hero.
Afterward he said, "it's a good thing I have a lot of hose."
One day you'll get that joke.
In the meantime, I thank God for you and your daddy, and I pray that we continue to laugh our way through these years. You're certainly helping with that!
Here's to the rest of my thirties...they've been great so far!