Dearest Ducky,

This month you started reading books. Simple things, like epic poems and the original version of “The Canterbury Tales”. OK no, but you have “To Market, To Market” down pat. It started out with you finishing the last word on every page of “How Does a Dinosaur Eat His Food?”, and then one day you picked up “Teddy Bear, Teddy Bear” and read it to Kelly front to back. It’s memorization and not actual reading, but this is where reading starts, so I am terribly excited. Excited that maybe I won’t go insane from reading “B is for Bear” over and over, and eventually you’ll read on your own. I think Daddy may have actually hid “Pat the Cat” before he required meds. I nearly cry from laughter every time you read “Teddy Bear…” because the page that reads “Teddy Bear Teddy Bear say your prayers” you recite, and with a very loud emphasis, “Teddy Bear Teddy Bear, DO YOU PRAY?!”

We pray every night at dinner, and you have a shocked expression as if you’ve been born into a cult of chanters. On Friday we were checking into outpatient surgery at Riley (a story that will require more time later), and the receptionist asked for our religious preference. What honestly ran through my head: “Well I’m a Baptist, but my husband is Lutheran, and we tried to find something that appealed to us both, so we attended a Presbyterian church. They decided to hate homosexuality, which is so not cool with me. I prefer African American services, as the singing makes my soul want to scream out my love for the Lord, but I think they’d prefer I keep my off-key singing to myself. So for now, we just pray at dinner.” The look on my face must have been ridiculous and the form had a 2 inch space for denomination, so I just said, “Anything with Jesus is fine.” Receptionist Erica gave me a look that said, “It’s 6:45 am and I’ll need coffee to deal with your kind”, and then she quietly wrote “Christian”. I promise your Daddy and I will get this God worshiping situation worked out before you achieve long term memory.

Your sleeping “issues” may be difficult, but they never stay the same. Your newest high and low is to actually fall asleep on your own during nap time, as long as you take the pillowcase off your pillow and sleep at the wrong end of the bed. I can’t imagine had I taken you to the best pediatric neurologist in the world, he would have made that therapeutic suggestion. The low sucks like an Indiana tornado: you make up for the fits you don’t throw during the day by throwing them at 3 am. You wake up, and if we don’t rock you for HOURS, you throw a good old-fashioned standard toddler tantrum. No really, WOW. If I thought I was a bad parent at noon, you should see me at 3 am during a fit. I turn into an alien and fire actually shoots from my ears. Your Daddy, in standard form, calmly walks into your room, performs some sort of exorcism on the devil-creature protruding from my skull, picks you up and rocks you to sleep. I mumble that he’s negotiating with a terrorist and skulk off to bed. Next month you’ll come up with an exciting new sleep disorder, so we never get bored. Or find a way to fix the problem. Ever.

You’ve also been filled with the spirit of dance this month. It’s mostly due to the keyboard Aunt Jenny and Uncle Jason bought you for Christmas, but nevertheless, my living room is a dance revolution every afternoon. You also like to dance with ribbons while running in a circle…equally entertaining to watch. Kelly thinks you’re the bomb and bursts out of her skin trying to join you from my lap. You apparently have my dancing skills, so start practicing now. It’s going to be a long, rhythm-less road sweetheart. When you get called “Elaine” for the first time, I can explain.

EVERY conversation starts with either “What’s that sound?”, “What’s that?” or oddly enough, “Who is on my back?” Who is on my back is easy…it’s you on my back. You love to jump on me while I’m changing Kelly’s diaper and yell in my ear, “WHO’S ON MY BACK?!” For some reason that never gets old and it always makes me giggle when I exclaim, “Sara is on my back!”

Daddy figured out that you did not want us to tell you the origin of a sound or the name of an object. You want us to ask the question. So whenever you say, “What’s that?”, I now reply with, “I don’t know, what is that?” Ah-ha! Mystery solved. Your spirited little eyes glitter as you tell me what “it” is. “It’s a Princess Pull Up Mommy!” [The most coveted item in the house]. Beware of the NOT asking, especially at Wal-Mart where this game is non-stop. Last week you were quietly riding in the basket, and I couldn’t see you because of Kelly’s car seat. You are NEVER quiet at Wal-Mart. Even a millisecond of hush indicates trouble is a-brewin’. For example, perhaps you have managed to eat through a bag of frozen peas, and you are slowly dropping them through the aisles, one by one. Or you are trying to crack eggs. They only let us in there because every week we spend the Gross National Product of Belgium. But last week, it was an average Mommy’s nightmare: You had gotten into my purse and were disassembling a tampon with the focus of an Olympian. NEVER let a quiet toddler go unchecked.

I wish I could say my bones don’t hurt at the end of a day with you, but girlfriend, you are on the go with the scattered energy of a firefly at warp speed. I feel like you gain momentum every month, and when the anesthesiologist told us you may be groggy for a day, your Daddy and I just laughed and laughed. And then we asked, “Promise?” By nightfall you were running around the dining room table yelling, “Whoah! Whoa-ah!” But mostly, I’m just grateful you are a typical silly toddler. So much could be different had we not been blessed to have you. You, just as you are. As I lay cuddled next to you in your bed last night, I struggled to keep my eyes open, just to watch you sleep. How could we have created you? Wild tiny you. I couldn’t have invented you in my head if I had a million years of planning. I would call you the daughter of my dreams, but what an understatement. You are beyond the reaches of my imagination Sara. You are not my anthem; you are your own.

Catching the Sara wave and loving the ride,

Mommy