Although I'm already starting out on the wrong foot by writting this, my first monthly letter to you, four days late, I hope you'll forgive me and that these letters will be something you treasure once you're grown.
Simon, you are this little person with life and energy enough for an arena full of post-Halloween, sugar-filled 5-8 year olds. You keep us on our toes at all times, but are a real joy.
Although your destructive habits have not left you, you have become quite my little helper. You love helping me pick up toys, bake, and (best of all) load and unload the washer and dryer. These last two things (and anything involving bending over) are quickly becoming more and more of a chore, ie. PAINFUL, so I'm happy to have you do it. I'm desperately hoping that the novelty doesn't wear off before this last trimester runs out! Now if you only had the strength to do a decent job of cleaning the tub...
You continue to amaze your dad and I with your singing and ability to remember songs. Currently your favorites are "I've Been Workin' on the Railroad", "Old McDonald", and "My Jesus I Love You". And you've become much more particular about which songs we're allowed to sing and when. You SHOUT your "request" at us until we've been worn down and finally give in. For the hundredth time that day. You're such a dictator.
Speaking of shouting, we're anxiously waiting for you to learn to whisper or at least talk like a normal person. You shout everything. Whether it's just from an exuberant zest for life, or an unspoken desire to drive us crazy, we're not sure. What we do know is that you already take great delight in antagonizing others. MAINLY ME. Not that you've discovered too many ways to do this, however you relish those you have.
Case in point... oranges. You love oranges, especially the little clementines or mandarins. Yet when I ask if you'd like one, this is what generally follows:
Simon, would you like an orange?
No, honey, it's an orange.
Then I realize I'm arguing with a one year old and give up. EVEN THOUGH YOU KNOW AS WELL AS I DO THAT IT'S ORANGE. But at least you're eating it. Our biggest issue with you remains finding food that you both can and will eat. Generally, the amount of time that I spend altering a recipe to make it safe for you is directly proportionate to how quickly it will end up on the floor, with you innocently looking down at it and pointing out "Mess...?".
I can't believe that you'll be two next month, Simon. You're so independent, yet such a cuddly guy too. I could perhaps do without you constantly trying to put your hands down my shirt, but am happy that you're becoming more and more content to just hold my hand. Except when you insist on hold one (or both) of my hands when I'm cooking, typing, eating, sewing, etc.