Farrah Star, my darling daughter of 19 months and beyond, you are killing me. My god, how did you grow to be so happy and cheerful and bubbly and all cheeky grinning goodness?
I am wild about you and not just because in your 19th month you finally decided to sleep through the night but it helps, holyallthingsholy does that help. You have also decided to nap and what a joy it is have a moment of respite so that I may think about you, edit photographs of you, post to Facebook about you and write blog posts about you. Even in slumber you are attached. Our cord, yours and mine, never stops pulsing. If I had a chance to name you again I would call you “Lure”.
Your teeter totter pitter patter footfalls tell the world you mean business but your sweet-sounding words and captivating mimicry is a language only we two speak. Your attention is undivided. You say Mama and I say Baby and no one else need say a word.
From Madison to Montreal our daily adventures continue through puddles and leaves and cafes and long, long bike rides. You love to go. You love your shoes and jacket and hat. You see the world as I reveal it and the magnitude of that responsibility never escapes me. You will be exposed to it all, secure in my shelter.
“Show me” I say, taking your hand. I follow you to turn on the train and read the book and find the ball and blow up the balloon. You don’t ask for much and yet everything at the same time. Your patience is thin and very, very loud. Farrah Star, you are killing me but what a way to go. Mama. Yes, Baby.
Nineteen months, my darling daughter. Thank you.