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Dear Aveline,

You’re quite a character. You’ve discovered grunting, and while it may not be very ladylike, it makes me laugh. You look so seriously at your toys, swat your little hands at them, and grunt as if to warn them that they’re about to be devoured by your nomming little mouth.

You have a beautiful voice. You love to talk, and daddy and I love to listen to you. You look at us, gently reach out your hands to touch our face, and speak delicate words in a language which only you understand.  What will we hear, when we can finally understand you? What of the world around you will you reinterpret to us through your words? Will you tell us of the way the light dances across your quilt in the afternoon, leaving those diamonds of sunshine you’re always trying to pick up?  What names will you give to your favorite stuffed toys?

You enjoy your mealtimes so very much. I tell you God gives food to the little birdies outside, and God paints the pretty colors onto all the flowers. I tell you God gives us the food we have, and we thank him for everything He’s given us. You kick your legs excitedly when I lift you into the highchair — unless you’re feeling impatient, in which case you stiffen your legs, arch your back and let out a squawk or two or ten. Avocado is your favorite, without a doubt.  Yesterday you branched out and happily ate some sweet potato, but made horrible faces at the green beans. Today was a different story. Today, you launched an all-out war against the sweet potato. As if yelling and smacking your palms against the highchair tray wasn’t dramatic enough, you pursed your lips and sprayed me with sweet potato puree. I had to laugh. You looked so indignant.

You’re always moving, always reaching for something. You’ve just discovered you can lift yourself up on your hands and knees and rock. This doesn’t satisfy you for long; you want to go places. Usually you default to your favorite method of locomotion, continuous rolling. Nothing is safe from your curiosity, really. You can roll across the living room floor at an alarming rate. Much to daddy’s chagrin, you unplug the xbox controllers on what seems to be a daily basis. The curtains have all been shortened as you can’t resist the tempting, billowing fabric. Figuring out ways to pull your books off the lowest shelf seems to be a favorite.

Lately, you and I have been going to the pool in the afternoon. I stand in the water and hold you, and you grin from ear to ear and splash the water with your feet. Sometimes you stop, your feet still and your fingers gripping me. You peek out from under your lacey sunhat hesitantly, trying to understand what the other pool-goers are doing.  If someone accidentally splashes you, you scrunch your face into a wrinkly grimace and hold on to me more tightly. Today, you fell asleep on my shoulder on the walk back to the house.

You’re a treasure, beautiful girl, a gift from God. Daddy and I love you so very much.

Love,

Your Mama