Dear Baby Eirinn

Dear Baby Eirinn,

At 22 months, you have become less “Baby” and more “Toddler”.  Even “Little Girl”, sometimes.  You are older than your years almost two years and it’s making me forget what you were like as an immobile, incoherent, helpless infant.  This maturity is an endless source of pride for your Daddy and I.  We can’t help but brag about you, even to each other. 

You have so many talents and so much knowledge, I’d be afraid to list them for fear of forgetting some of the most important.  But the most recent, and “in progress”, development is your grasp on colours.  Your response to the question “what colour is this?” is still “blue” every time and without fail, but you have one puzzle that is quickly changing your opinion that every colour is blue.  You match the coloured fish to the matching coloured word with no effort at all, and when asked what colour each fish is, you know.  You know every time.  Sometimes I think you just tell us all the colours are blue because you think it’s funny.  Make these silly grown ups believe they’re smarter than you so they won’t make you get a job and pay rent.  Smooth.

You now turn everything into a rule.  And you are very strict.  You shake your head, wag your index finger, and repeat what we’ve told you in that sing-songy voice that oozes authority.

For example.  Bugba has a step ladder.  When you see the step ladder, you look at us, wag your finger, furrow your brow, and say “No climb a ladder.”  And we don’t because you said so.

You are becoming more and more affectionate.  With me.  With everyone else you are becoming more and more easy to trick into being more affectionate.  Without asking, totally unprovoked, and on more than one occasion, you have told me “I love you, Mommy.”  If that wasn’t enough to turn this Vulcan into a blubbering pile of running mascara and snotty Kleenex, your toddler accent is.  “Ah Laaaaawb You, Mommy.”

You also comfort me when I’m sad or feeling sick.  You’ll ask me your usual “What doin’, Mommy?” and if I say “crying” or “I feel sick, baby” you come to me and pet my arm with a worried look and say “it’s ok, Mommy.”  Of course, my “crying” is fake because you did something like wouldn’t do what you’re told.  But the fact that you are remorseful and comfort me more than makes up for it.

We’ve started to say “Daddy will be mad at you” (or “Papa” if you’re not at home) when you do something you know you’re aren’t supposed to be doing.  And you know this is coming.  Sometimes you ask if Daddy’s going to be mad at you.  The answer is usually yes.  Especially when you put your feet on the dinner table.  I often retract this promise when you say “No Daddy mad at you”, in a soft voice with a pout. 

You have a new brother or sister on the way, but it’s too early for you to know this.  I won’t burdon you with the fact that life as you know it is now over until much closer to D-Day.  It will be different, that’s for sure, but I hope good-different.  I hope you find yourself a friend out of the new little one.  One that you can teach all your talents and knowledge.  One you can lay down the law to (with Mommy and Daddy’s help, of course).  One you can kiss and hug and Laaawb.  One you can comfort.

Mommy and Daddy are going to be busier once baby #2 arrives.  We are going to be tired, and we are going to be occupied sometimes with someone who isn’t you.  For this adjustment that you never asked for, I’m sorry.  But it will get better.  When the baby is older and tougher and can play and keep up with your bountiful energy, he or she will be fun and you’ll be glad we decided to have him or her for you.

And know this.  Know that you will always be our Baby Eirinn.  Know that we will make time for just you.  Know that we will love you endlessly, unconditionally.

Because you are our Pumpkin and we laaawb you, too.

Mommy and Daddy

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2 Responses to “Dear Baby Eirinn”


  1. 1 Lauren January 11, 2008 at 8:30 pm

    That was very sweet, Jen. It made me cry and i’m sure it did for you as you wrote it.
    See you soon.

  2. 2 moosh in indy. January 15, 2008 at 10:31 pm

    WHAT THE HECK IS WRONG WITH MY KID?
    SHE’S THREE!
    GAH!


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