Things you do

Dear Henry,

You have gotten so funny lately, I thought you might like to hear about all the fun and silly things you do and say.

So, you used to be able to identify several of your body parts (ears, nose, tongue, feet), but now you always point to the wrong one when we ask you. I was worried that maybe you had forgotten them somehow until we were reading a book that had the word "ear" in it - when I read it, you grabbed your ear. So I figured out that you're playing a trick on us! I'm not sure why, but it is pretty funny - it really drives Daddy crazy, though.

You mimick everything we say these days. A few weeks ago, you pulled a book off the shelf and threw it on the floor. I told you to put it back. You turned to Daddy and said, "Put that back!"

You also love to sing. Your favorite song lately is a song we made up about our dog, Lily Belle. It goes "Wiener, wiener, wiener Belle. She's a sassy Wiener Bell." You sing "wiener, wiener, wiener" all the time, and I always have to explain that you're singing about our dachshund.

Last week, Granny and Grampa came to visit, and you had a great time with them. You talked so much more around them than when it's just us. You enjoyed having an extra audience too. You can't say Grampa, though, so you called him Old Dad (Oda) instead. In fact, when I told you to go wake Grampa up one morning, you said, "Who's that?" I said, "That old guy that's staying here." You said, "Oda?"

One night, I was getting ready to put you to bed, and I told you to say goodnight to Daddy. You said, "Bye bye." (Close enough). Daddy said, "Night night, Henry." You replied, "Bye, Dude."

You are so funny and getting funnier all the time!

Here are some recent pictures of you.

Another reason you're awesome

Dear Henry,

I hurt my back over the weekend, which meant that by Monday afternoon, I was pretty useless. So I laid on the couch, and we watched Iron Man 2, and I taught you to say robot ("bot!"). It was so cute that I bought you a robot costume for Halloween.

I also taught you to say wiener. We sing a song about Lily the wiener dog. I'm so proud.

You are awesome. And hilarious.

The Fear

Dear Henry,

We found out this week that you are allergic to peanuts. I know it's silly, but it kind of broke my heart.

Peanut allergies are dangerous. You could die the next time you're exposed. Your doctor doesn't seem to think so, but it's always in the back my head. This is fine now because you're little, and we're almost always together. But I'm scared, because someday you will go to school, and I won't be able to control everything you eat. And what if you accidentally eat something you shouldn't? The possible consequences terrify me. I read labels obsessively now. I'm scared to take you to a friend's house or leave you with a sitter or feed you food I haven't prepared myself. I'm scared that no one else will understand how important this is. I'm scared you won't understand. Henry, I have worked so hard to keep you safe. Please, please don't screw it up for me.

And there's a more selfish part of my reaction, too. We will never share a peanut butter sandwich. You will never get to eat a Snickers bar or a peanut butter cup (and I never will again). You'll never eat Pad Thai, or any of the other amazing foods that I LOVE because they contain peanuts. And if you can't have them, I can't either, because it's not worth it to expose you to something so dangerous. But it makes me sad, because I love those things, and now I can never share them with you.

I know that I have been lucky so far. We have hardly ever had to worry about your health. I know that this problem has an easy fix: just don't give you peanuts. And I know that lots of people live their whole lives with terrible allergies and are just fine. But I also know that people can die. I know that people make mistakes. And I am scared.

Lucky

Dear Henry,

Today, I thought about being lucky.

I know a family, and their daughter has a rare, genetic, fatal disease. She is two years old, and she is dying.

I don't know how her parents do it. I don't know how they get up every day knowing that today could be the last day they spend with her. I don't know how they take care of her medical needs, knowing that all they can really do is make her comfortable. I don't know how they do it with grace, but they do. They inspire me, but I'm glad I'm not in their position.

So I was thinking about this family, and I realized that we are so, so lucky. Our problems are small and petty. You are perfect and healthy.

I realized that things could change for us in an instant, just like it did for that other family. So today, I felt lucky. Lucky to have the time to spend with you, lucky that we could enjoy each other, lucky that you are you. When you fell down and cried, I felt lucky that you could run. When you took all your pajamas out of your dresser, I felt lucky that you are so curious. And when I held you before you went to bed, I felt so very, very lucky to have you in my life.

I should feel lucky more often

Perfect

Dear Henry,

We found out yesterday that your dad didn't get a job he had applied for, and I am a little surprised at my disappointment. I mean, we have a great life in Charlotte, wonderful friends, a beautiful house. What more could we want.

Well, here's the deal: That job was in Michigan. It would have been half the distance to our families.The houses we could afford there were amazing, huge, on giant lots with lots of privacy. You could have gone to the best schools in the area. We could have gone to the beach every summer.  You would have grown up with snow in the winter. We would have lived in a smaller place. It might be safer there. You would have grown up with a lot of the same things your dad and I had and loved as kids. It might have been perfect.

So when your dad didn't get the job, I was really disappointed. Because no matter how much I love Charlotte, I worry that we won't be able to give you all the things we want you to have growing up: good schools, a big yard, snow. Your dad isn't around as much as he would like, and living in Charlotte is expensive. I worry that we can't live the lives we want to live here.

This probably all seems very silly to you now, looking back and reading this and knowing that you grew up just fine. And maybe I'll read this tomorrow and realize that I'm being ridiculous and that you have a wonderful life full of good friends. Maybe I worry too much about things being perfect. Maybe I need to learn to be happy with where I am. Maybe I'm putting too much pressure on things outside of myself to make me happy. But I want everything to be good and happy and perfect for you. That's all.

Here's a picture of you, being perfect and happy and amazing. Also, eating yogurt.

Sleeeeeeep

Dear Henry,

You just woke up from a three-hour nap. After being up for an hour, screaming, between three and four this morning. And getting up at 6:45 to go to a giant consignment sale with me. And playing crazily with Daddy until you were so worked up that I thought you would never take a nap.

That meant I got to take a nap too.

Thank you.

Dear Henry

Dear Henry,

I can't believe it took me so long to think of this, but here it is - a blog that I can write for you. Maybe someday you'll even read it! And if you do, you'll probably know that I started writing you letters a while ago (they're in your baby book). You'll probably also know that I'm not very good at remembering when you did things unless I write them down right away. I'm also not very good at writing them down right away. So maybe keeping a blog that I can update frequently will help. Who knows? It's worth a shot, right?

Anyway, you're 15 months old, and you are amazing. You have so much personality now. And you talk all. the. time. You don't even seem to care if I understand you, which is good because usually I don't. Here are some of the things that I do understand:

dog, bark, woof. also Lily (the dog's name)
eat, cheese, yogurt
ball, throw it
shoes, go outside
why? what?
book, read
bathtub

Today, I'm pretty sure you said "I love you" when you hugged me. Yesterday, you had this conversation with your dad about the dog barking:

H: Dog bark.
Dad: What does the dog say?
H: It say "woof."

You're obviously a genius. You can also identify your tongue, ears, and nose. And sometimes your toes and feet, but sometimes you just point to your leg when I ask.

You are obsessed with books. We read together every day, and you also like to look at books on your own sometimes. You also like to take all the books out of the bookcases and bring them to me when you want attention. There are so many books on the floor that our house looks like it was hit by a tornado.

Today you went to the doctor for your 15-month check-up. You weighed almost 27 pounds and were 32 inches tall. You screamed when the nurse tried to measure your head (what's up with that?), and then you couldn't stop crying. Which was ok, since you ended up getting two shots and having blood drawn so you can be tested for food allergies (I hope you don't have any, but you got hives after eating peanut butter). Afterwards, you took a 2.5 hour nap and then went to bed early. I hope you're ok.

I love you, love bug.