Dear Carly,
You are sleeping. You drifted off while you sat in the recliner with your Dad. Your face turned to the side, your eyes slipped shut and then you were dreaming. Just like that.
It's magical to watch you change. You're getting taller, and more person-like. You talk with your hands. You've got a personal sense of style (I'm not saying it's good, but you've got it.) You have opinions and you're not afraid, at all, to share them. You excel at making messes, not so much at cleaning them up (unless you're really motivated).
You're reading. And writing. The reading comes a little slower, spurts and starts, but it's coming. You like to make fancy looping letters and numbers. You can color inside the lines when you care to try. And you draw these incredible pictures of people with long, long, long hair and googly eyes. They are wonderfully strange. And quite sweet.
Some days I look at you and can't think of any word except wow.
Other days .... well we won't talk about those.
But even as you change, you stay the same. Daddy is still your favorite. I try to shake it off when you almost physically push me away to get to him. I'm glad, so glad, that you love him so fiercely. Everyone needs their own personal fan club. You still want to be close, right on top of me if possible. But only for a moment. Because flipping, bouncing, jumping and spinning is much more important than snuggling. You just want to know you can. You sing all the time. (The "nice" singing is particularly impressive.) You make up words and tunes that aren't tunes. You turn little moments into performances.
You're this flying little whirlwind.
And then, you collapse into a pile of sugar and sleep.
Sweet dreams.
Love,
Mom
It's magical to watch you change. You're getting taller, and more person-like. You talk with your hands. You've got a personal sense of style (I'm not saying it's good, but you've got it.) You have opinions and you're not afraid, at all, to share them. You excel at making messes, not so much at cleaning them up (unless you're really motivated).
You're reading. And writing. The reading comes a little slower, spurts and starts, but it's coming. You like to make fancy looping letters and numbers. You can color inside the lines when you care to try. And you draw these incredible pictures of people with long, long, long hair and googly eyes. They are wonderfully strange. And quite sweet.
Some days I look at you and can't think of any word except wow.
Other days .... well we won't talk about those.
But even as you change, you stay the same. Daddy is still your favorite. I try to shake it off when you almost physically push me away to get to him. I'm glad, so glad, that you love him so fiercely. Everyone needs their own personal fan club. You still want to be close, right on top of me if possible. But only for a moment. Because flipping, bouncing, jumping and spinning is much more important than snuggling. You just want to know you can. You sing all the time. (The "nice" singing is particularly impressive.) You make up words and tunes that aren't tunes. You turn little moments into performances.
You're this flying little whirlwind.
And then, you collapse into a pile of sugar and sleep.
Sweet dreams.
Love,
Mom
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