Dear Violet,

Last week you turned thirteen months old. You are no longer a baby; you are now an adult and I can set you free in the wild. Oh, oops, that’s a monkey I’m thinking of. There are so many similarities that Mommy gets confused sometimes. For instance, monkeys climb all over everything, including their mothers. YOU climb all over everything, including YOUR mother, and also including playground equipment that is meant for much older children and other really dangerous things you definitely should not climb on. Monkeys sleep right next to their mothers and probably climb all over them at night, just like you climb all over me all night, too! Monkeys fling their poo and while I have kept you far away from your poo to prevent this very thing, you will fling basically anything else that is gooey and hard to clean up, like all your food at dinner. You don’t use the “all done” sign anymore because making an angry face, grabbing a fist full of broccoli, and throwing it full force on the floor is your new favorite way to tell us you’d like to get down now, please.

Making an angry face is your new party trick. It’s just delightful. You scrunch up your nose, bare your teeth, and glare at me. Then, while I’m recovering from the shock of seeing your face contorted thus, you do something brutish, like yank your brother’s hair. Or pinch my arm. Or throw your food. All this is while you’re making eye contact, like you’re taunting: “DO something about it, IF YOU DARE.” I correct you (“Gentle, Vi. Gentle with Brother’s hair.”), which only seems to intensify your anger. I have to pick you up and remove you before you do some real damage, and that makes you SUPER mad. You start hitting and smacking everything in sight, which is usually my chest. It hurts. QUIT IT.

You have always had a little ‘tude, Baby Girl, but this month it is hitting its peak (at least, its peak thus far). You have an opinion about everything, and you are not afraid to let us all know it. When Mommy was pregnant with you, I used to worry that your big brother would be jealous after you were born, but it never occurred to me that it would be you who would one day be jealous. It sure seems like that’s what’s going on, though. If I’m snuggling Noah or if I’m paying attention to him instead of you, you come waddling over and yank his hair or grab the neck of his t-shirt and screech at him until he gets up, and then you walk into my lap and settle in for a cuddle of your own. You are also grabbier than ever, snatching toys and phones and people’s forks and whatever else someone might be holding. You see, you want, you scream, you grab, you take. I admit it, Buddy… I am worried for your future.

Of course I know you just want to be able to do everything Big Brother does. If he climbs a tree, you damn sure can, too. If he plays with a truck, you want that truck too. Not just some other truck, oh no. THAT TRUCK. You try tattling on him when he takes it out of your reach by fake crying all loudly and glancing in my direction. It’s funny the way Noah seems to drive you CRAZY, but you want to be just like him at the same time.

It makes you kind of a daredevil, the way you want to keep up with Brother all the time. You were walking at eleven months; you’re practically running now. A few weeks ago we went to the zoo and your Grammy wanted you kids to take a ride on the carousel. While your big bro was terrified and spent the entire ride sitting on the bench and hanging on to the rail for dear life, you rode the zebra and you LOVED it. You have no inhibitions at parks and playgrounds; you don’t look back when you wander off at coffee shops or bookstores. You’re CONSTANTLY on the go, and by the time I help Noah down from the monkey bars and turn to locate you at the playground, you’re already precariously balanced at the top of the slide, ready to head down on your own.

You also can be sweeter than pie, my darling bebe. You ask to nurse by hitting me as hard as you can on the chest, but then you lay your head gently on my arm and smile warmly up at me. You drive me nuts by waking up a thousand times every night, but you’re happy as a clam once you’re snuggling beside me in bed. “Are you ready for milk and night-night time?” I ask you as you play with your brother’s cars, and you immediately stop what you’re doing and wave goodnight to everyone in the room. Then you pop your hand up to your mouth in your signature kiss-blowing move. You pucker up for your Daddy and Noah, give them both big kisses on the mouth, and then you turn to me, pucker for a kiss, hit my chest, and lay your head on my arm, grinning. You toddle up for snuggles at intervals all day, walking again and again into my open arms and laying your head on my shoulder. You squeeze me when I hug you. You grin so big sometimes that your nose wrinkles, your eyes shut, and your gums show. You say “Dee-do!” when someone hands you something. You say “Dee-do!” when you hand someone else something, as well.

When I’ve been gone for a while and I walk through the door, you stop whatever you’ve been doing, open your mouth in a silent scream of joy, and toddle over as fast as I’ve ever seen you toddle, arms open to me. We squeeze each other for a couple of blissful minutes afterward, and I treasure those love squeezes each and every time. I wish I could hold on to you like that forever. Even more do I REALLY wish you would always be that happy to see me, any time I’m gone for the rest of my life, even though I know that won’t be the case.

But. I know I always will be.

I love you, Sweet One.

Love,

Mommy

Dear Violet,

Well, we did it! We made it through your first year and Mama may or may not be patting myself on the back at this very moment. I could write this one year birthday letter with an overall sad feeling, which would match my emotions when I looked back over your baby pictures that I had printed for your birthday party, but who needs to hear about Mama’s heart yearning for your tiny weight against my chest as we both sleep? Or your first smiles, your gentle snores, your tiny fingers learning to grasp, your bright eyes learning to see, your chubby legs learning to kick? Or your first giggle, or the first time you discovered the dog or the cat, or your favorite baby doll, or the way you watched every single thing your brother did until you could do the same thing? Who needs to hear about how every time you wake up from a nap you’re just a little bit bigger, just a little bit older, and as hard as I try to pay attention so I don’t miss anything, here you are at one year old and I can’t stem the flow of tears when I think about it? Nobody needs to hear that, right? So instead of weeping through this one year letter and making it all sappy, instead I’ll tell you all the ways you risk your own life every day and somehow Mama and Daddy have managed to keep you alive for an entire year.

Way #1: Your brother’s “love.” I really thought (and hoped) that by the time you were a year old I could leave you and your big brother unattended for long enough to take a whiz, but I absolutely cannot, and the reason is because Noah is crazy about you. He likes to “help” you walk (which you can do perfectly all by yourself; you’re practically running these days!), which makes you fall. Then you get mad and scream at him. Understandable. Then he tries to hug you while you’re standing there inspecting a toy, which makes you fall. Then you get mad and scream at him. Then he tries to snuggle you. And you get mad and scream at him. Lately you have learned to use physical strength to show him how annoyed you are. Your favorite methods are the shirt grab, a good strong shove, or hair pulling, all these of course accompanied by you shrieking like a wild animal. You are like, WAY over him. Unless you’re watching him do something, like eat, or laugh, or read a book, or play with play dough, or play with one of his toys. Then you are ALL up in his business. You scream at him and look at me when he doesn’t do exactly what you want (like hand over his toy train pronto), like you’re telling on him. If I remove you from the situation you scream at me too. If I let you walk by yourself at the store or the park Noah FREAKS OUT, convinced you’re not safe and begs me to pick you up and bring you along, almost to the point of tears. When I give in and pick you up, or if I need to move a bit faster and try to urge you along, you scream and kick.

There’s a lot of screaming around here this month. I should clarify what I mean, lest you read this in 20 years and laugh, like it’s cute. I’m talking about shrieks so sharp and so piercing that we no longer have glass on any of our windows. When you start we all have to cover our ears. You sound like a freaking Nazgul. You are such a happy baby, don’t get me wrong. It’s still the number one thing people say about you; they can’t believe how happy and smiley you are. But that happiness shifts quickly into YOU WON’T LIKE ME WHEN I’M ANGRY status. And that’s when everyone in our family ducks and runs for cover.

Needless to say, we are all T-E-R-R-I-F-I-E-D of the coming years, and your coming tantrums. Dear God. The experts say tantrums happen when kids feel like they can’t communicate, and I hope that’s true, because  you’re getting pretty good at communicating already. You can say your own (ADORABLE) version of many words: “dee-dee!” (thank you), “bah-bah” (bye-bye) “mah-mah” (more and Mama), “me?!” (milk) “haaaah!” (hi), “bah!” (ball, balloon, and… Brother? Or maybe Bubba?), “dow” (dog), “dah-dah” (Daddy and everything else). You can also sign all done and milk. You never learned the sign for more, because you found it much more efficient to just point and grunt. Hey, however you can communicate that’s not screaming our skin off is fine with me!

Way #2: Your sleeping (or lack thereof). It’s a miracle you’re still alive for how little you sleep. It just CAN’T be good for you. This is when you scream the loudest and are the most unhappy, because it means there is nothing to do, play with, see, no one to flirt with, no more day to conquer. You HATE naps. This month you went down to one, which has helped with you being tired enough by the time noon comes around not to fight me to the death every time, but this one nap keeps getting shorter and shorter. Mama is EXHAUSTED. You also HATE bedtime. Oh, you love “saying night-night” and puckering up to kiss everyone in sight. You love picking up book after book, shoving it in our faces, crawling into our laps, turning one single page, tapping a picture with your finger, and then closing the book. You’re even ok with the nursing part. But the going to SLEEP part? Um, no. You turn into a sweaty ball of anger when you sense us trying to ease you into a gentle, peaceful sleep. You scream through the lullabies, you scream and fight our cradle hold, upright hold, Ergo hold. You don’t want to be left in your crib alone; you don’t want to be walked around; you don’t want to lie down with us; you don’t want to be rocked. You just don’t want to go to sleep. You’d stay awake indefinitely, I think. From your room you scream and cry and point to the door. THERE ARE TOYS AND PEOPLE AND FUN OUT THERE, you just KNOW it. When you’re finally asleep, you wake up an hour later, and you scream and cry with your Daddy until I finally give in and nurse you AGAIN, which calms you down and may or may not ease you back into sleep, depending on the night. Then you’re in bed with us an hour after that, for the rest of the night, which is the only way you’re guaranteed to sleep. Even when no one’s doing anything and we’re all sleeping, you still want to be with us. I think it’s because it’s the only way you can be sure you’re not missing something.

Way #3: Your nursing (or lack thereof). Despite what I just said about nursing you down and then you staying latched onto me like a freaking leech all night long, nursing is so not your thing. You’re like, way too busy man. You know how to ask me (you beat on my chest with your hand), and you ask me all the time. But the second I get you in position and whip out my boob, you’re done. You’re like, “NO! I have too much going on. What was I thinking!? I have no time for this.” I still leak milk all the time, even though you’re a YEAR old. Most of the time during the day you latch on just long enough for my milk to come in and then you’re off, screaming and fighting if I try to get you to drink just a little bit more. It’s… annoying. I’m currently riding out my second plugged milk duct in three months. You have no schedule, and as soon as I think we’re starting to get into a routine, you change it. This month you have basically weaned yourself down to three times a day, plus all through the night (per normal). (I hate that. Please stop. It sucks.)

At least you’re eating solids well, although you’ll 100% of the time go for the bread, the pasta, the cracker and you’ll pick through the vegetables, the fruits, the proteins to get to them. (Although now that I’m thinking about it, your favorite food is scrambled eggs. It’s the only thing you shovel in your face faster than carbs.) And you’re no barbarian. Give you the fork, dammit! Eating with your hands is baby stuff. Unless it’s grapes. Then just give you more grapes. More. MORE! You store them in your cheeks and we’re like, wow! Look at all the grapes she ate… oh. Never mind. There are like 12 still in her mouth.

Way #4: Your tottering. You learned to walk last month, so naturally this month you are practicing walking really fast and walking up and down steps and hills. (Awesome.) I spend most of my time following you around with my arms hovering around you. You have face planted a couple of times, fallen down some steps, and knocked things over on top of your head, but so far you are still alive and we haven’t had to rush you to the ER for stitches or because of concussion, miraculously. You are such a dare devil though; I’m sure that concussion and my panic attack are not too long into the future. You love going to the playground because you love climbing on equipment that is meant for kids way older than you. In the time it takes me to help Noah down the fire pole, you are all the way at the top, laughing and clapping, with big kids running rambunctiously past you. Mama has many injuries from climbing up playground equipment in two bounds to catch you before you fling yourself down the slide. Thankfully you love the swing too, so as long as I can keep you confined inside the baby swing, I think I can keep you alive on the playground.

Way #5: Your flirting. This may not sound like something dangerous, but if you consider that you’re walking far away from our table at restaurants and coffee shops or far away from our picnic blanket at the park in order to see who else is around and what else is going on, it ends up being quite unsafe. I turn around to wipe Noah’s nose and you’re halfway across the playground or all the way across the grocery store. You stand and stare at someone until they notice you and smile and say hello (I see the nervous glance around to find the poor child’s obviously negligent mother). You smile shyly, never breaking eye contact, and you’ve started doing the weirdest/cutest thing: you point one toe. Like, a ballet dancer? A tai chi master? I’m not sure what you’re doing. We call it your “I’m ridiculously cute and you will love me” pose. It works on everybody.

Despite this, you are surprisingly still quite attached to me. Last week I tried to go to the YMCA and put you in the nursery. You were fine when I dropped you off, and I came back to check on you twice and you were fine! But by the time I finished on the treadmill and came to get you, you were NOT fine. You were crying in the nursery worker’s arms, and you burst into tears and held out your sweet arms to me when you saw me, and my heart shattered. I tried to leave you one other time with your brother there, thinking you’d be fine if he was with you, but I was wrong. By the time I had you in my arms again you were hiccuping, and you held me so tightly you were attached to me even when I let go.

Oh how I love you, Mama’s little gap-toothed koala. I can’t figure you out at all. I know you have such a sweet heart. You love people so much. You have friends already that you reach for when you see and you love your family and you love to snuggle and be snuggled, unless it’s your older brother trying to move in for the hundredth hug. I know you love giving kisses and high fives. But sometimes you don’t. I know you love being held, but you squirm out of my arms two seconds after crying for me. I know you love looking at books and playing with toys, but only for a fraction of a second. I know you love to nurse but you hate not seeing what’s going on. I know you love to eat but you want out of your high chair. I know you still hate your car seat because you want to be engaging people and moving around, not confined and alone. I know you love to be tickled and you love to play, but you love to be left alone sometimes, too. You love to laugh, but you seem to love screaming and shrieking just as much.

On good days, when I’m well-rested, I realize it’s all just part of your strong-willed personality coming out. I’m always so proud of you. No one will ever be able to give you shit, and that’s my girl. Mama loves you more every day, every time I get you out of your crib and realize you’ve grown, every time you finally fall asleep, every time you giggle or hold your arms out for me or walk across the room or grin or talk to me. Happy one year of living, Sweet Baby.

Love,

Mama

Dear Violet,

You were ten months old for almost two weeks when I finally started this letter, and I stopped because I had to hold your hands while you walked all around the house, and now you’re eleven months old, and Mommy is starting to feel very emotional about how quickly your babyhood is passing. Wasn’t it only yesterday that I wrapped you up tight and wore you close to my chest while you slept? We went everywhere like that: the coffee shop, the theatre, restaurants, bookstores, the park, on walks… every time you got cranky (which was a LOT in the beginning, although it’s hard to believe now) I wrapped you up in the Moby and went outside with you. You were asleep within SECONDS. Can so much time really have already passed? Almost a year? I wanted life to pause so I could drink you in, your baby-ness, and it didn’t. Time was cruel as ever and now suddenly before me here you are, my big eleven-month-old baby girl. I will wipe the tears away for now, but don’t expect them not to flow freely on your first birthday, sweet Love.

These past two months have been huge for you, as every month seems to be. You took your first steps on March 16, sort of falling in a forward-motion at the beginning and by the middle of the day standing completely still and stepping one, two, three times. Our excitement was through the roof as you fell first into my arms, then Daddy’s, then Grammy’s and Pappy’s, then Noah’s. Now you’re walking all the time, though still only if people are standing nearby to catch you and encourage you. You expect a big hug and a lot of clapping afterward, too. You crawl only to get to a place where you can pull yourself up, and then you hold out your hand and wave it in a pretty good impression of the way we flap our hands to get you to walk over.

Living with two dogs has elicited from you your first official word: “dow.” (Close enough.) You point to the dogs and look at us to tell us what they’re called. Today you pointed to a picture of a dog in a book and said “dow!” all proudly. You lean in really close to their faces to remind them with a shout that they are, in fact, “dow”s. You can hold a phone (albeit in an awkward position) close to your ear and say “how-woo.” When you first see someone you say “HAAA!” which we think is a very Nashville sounding “hi.” I swear you told your brother “thank you” the other day when he handed you a cheddar bunny (“dee-do!”). You can also say “bah-bah-bah” and “dah-dah-dah,” and these words are interchangeable with every other word in the English dictionary. You expect us to understand exactly what you want and how you want it and when you want it and if we don’t oh LORD. Which brings me to my next point.

You have a ‘TUDE. We’ve known this for a while but it increases in fury each month. You’ve started throwing your head (and body) back against whoever’s holding you and letting out wails of anger (fake wails I might add) when we take dangerous objects out of your grasp. You’ve begun tattling on your brother when he won’t let you play with something: you open your mouth, start that fake cry, crawl over to me, and point to him. You get super tired of your big brother already, pushing against him when he tries to snuggle you, screaming when he won’t let you near his toys. You have a shriek that makes the dogs run for cover. It fills Mommy’s heart with terror when I hear you screaming your throat hoarse from your high chair because someone didn’t hand you a crust of bread fast enough, because I know what’s coming in two more years. And it’s not going to be pretty. (You scream about bread because all the carrots and green beans already on your tray are not appealing. You shake your head no and point for carbs, carbs, more and more carbs. And sometimes you point to Mommy’s wine glass and when I don’t hand it to you, you shriek. How are you already this heavily opinionated?)

When you’re not screaming and fake crying you’re usually flirting with neighboring tables at restaurants or strangers at the library. You learned how to play peek-a-boo because a stranger taught you while we were waiting for Mommy’s phone to get fixed (because you broke it), only you put your hands over your ears instead of your eyes. Then when we look around and say “Where’s Violet?” you pull your hands away as if to say, “Voila!” and you clap and laugh and kick your legs. You’ve also started this game where you lean way over in my arms, looking at me the whole time, until I make eye contact with you, and then you kick your legs and giggle like it’s the funniest thing you’ve ever seen. You DEMAND eye contact. If I’m looking at my phone you slowly move your head into its light until I am forced to look at you instead, and when I do I see you’ve been grinning the whole time. You’ll stare down even the hipster-iest looking hipsters in coffee shops, waiting patiently until they can bear it no longer, and when they look at you you smile so big they melt into a puddle. “She is so happy!” “She is so cute!” “She is adorable with that grin!” people tell me all the time. It’s true, Baby Girl. And you know it, too.

You don’t seem to have any stranger danger, either. You feel absolutely secure as long as I’m holding you; you’ll flirt with anyone who comes near. And within 10 minutes of meeting someone new you want that person to hold you and play with you. And you’re starting to gain quite a bit of independence as well. Yesterday at Ugly Mugs, you squirmed and shrieked in my arms until I, exhausted, let you down on the floor. You crawled right away from me and over to the play table where you happily stayed, all alone, until you decided the door was a better location and you crawled over to block people from leaving. Or maybe you were trying to escape. Either way, you were 100% unconcerned as to Mommy’s whereabouts. I’m simultaneously proud and terrified.

This month your likes and dislikes are pretty much the same: you still like baths; you still do not like having your face wiped. You like eating; you do not like pausing in play to nurse. You like giving kisses and hugs; you do not like it when someone won’t let you have something that you want. You like playing with your big brother; you do not like it when your big brother tries to hold, squeeze, or otherwise restrain you in any way, or when he won’t let you swipe his toys. You like walking back and forth between Mommy and Daddy; you do not like falling face-forward into the bottom of the couch. (Not that I can blame you for that. It was REALLY sad the other day when it happened.) (Perhaps it’s because you cry so seldom that it feels like physical pain when you cry for real.)

Basically what the last two months (and really the last eleven months) boil down to is that you are the brightest ray of sunshine Mommy has ever known. You are beautiful and funny and fun, and your smile warms and softens me even when I’m in the worst mood. I am having a hard time accepting how old and big you are, but I’m loving seeing you grow every day at the same time. I both want to hold on to this baby I have held close to me for eleven months and let go of this toddler you are becoming and watch you learn to walk and run and laugh and play. I love you, Violet, even when you put your mashed-up-avocado hands into your hair right after a bath, even when you shriek at me for taking away the computer cord, even when you stick your hands in my mouth while you nurse or scratch the living shit out of my chest, even when you throw your little body against me in a teeny-tiny-temper-tantrum, even when you refuse to nap and refuse to fall asleep at night and I’m exhausted beyond belief because I’ve been trying to put you down for an hour. I love your voice and your little words and the way you kiss me good morning and lay your head on your brother’s chest when you’re both waking up from a nap. I love you, my sweet Baby Girl, my little fire ball.

Love,

Mommy