Lately when people have asked me how old you are I’ve told them, “She’s 15 months… going on 15 years.” Just the other night we dropped you off with your Grandma Candy for a few hours so your dad and I could have some much needed alone time (something you’ll understand when you’re older… much, much older) and when we came to pick you up later that evening, all she could say about the experience was, “She certainly has a mind of her own, doesn’t she?”
That you do, kiddo. THAT YOU DO.
But it’s not as if this is new information. In fact, I knew it before you were even born. Shortly after discovering that I was carrying you, I began having complications with the pregnancy. There was a time very early on that I thought I’d lost you. In fact, everyone did, including my doctor and the ER nurse I spoke with on the phone. But during an ultrasound the next morning, I looked up at the monitor and saw your little heart just beat-beat-beating away and that’s when I knew: you were strong, you were a fighter. It was only the first of many pregnancy scares, but after that experience, each discomforting moment was accompanied by a feeling of peace. I could feel your strength already, and even though the things we went through were scary, deep down I knew that you were going to be fine.
Sometimes I curse your willpower, as it makes my life considerably more difficult. I imagine my stress level would decrease significantly if I had a child who would listen to me, simply because I said so. But that’s not you, my love. Once you get an idea into your head, there’s no changing your mind. You are determined and stubborn and even downright defiant, at times. Your ability to throw tantrums is incredible, really. If it weren’t so darn frustrating, it’d be impressive. I think there have actually been a few times that your voice has reached frequencies undetectable by human ears. I see these tendencies now and it makes me fearful about the future, but I try not to think about it too much, because the few times I’ve let my mind wander and imagined you as a teenager I’ve either ended up in tears, or involuntary, full-body convulsions.
In other news: sometime in the past month, you discovered my belly button. The BEEP! sound I made when you pushed it resulted in hysterical laughter, and now you have a new favorite game. While you definitely prefer to beep someone’s “button”, if your playmate is not a willing participant in your game (your dad thinks it’s weird when you stick your finger in his belly button), another body part will do just fine. Everything in the house beeps now. The couch beeps. The dog beeps. Your food beeps before it enters your mouth. There’s no end to the beeping! One morning, I heard a high-pitched BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! coming from the living room and walked in to find you repeatedly pushing your own belly button and giggling.
Your dad and I have recently started playing a game of our own where we say a word and ask you to repeat it. It usually goes something like this:
“Morgan, say: hi.”
“Di-dee.” (All dogs are Dixie)
“No, Morgan, say: ball.”
That’s when we know our game is over.
We have entered the phase of your life (at least I hope it’s just a
phase) where trying to put a diaper on you is like trying to mud wrestle a hyena: strenuous, messy, and one of us usually walks away limping. As I’ve mentioned before, you LOVE to be naked. And I may be crazy, but everything you do seems to be even more hilarious when you do it in the nude. For this reason, on the days that you win our little wrestling matches, we allow you to run around naked for a few minutes. Sort of a naked, victory dance, I suppose. The day you pooped on the carpet was the day your dad said he was drawing the line – your naked days were OVER! I told him that was fine as long as HE was going to be the one who put your diaper back on, then added, “You’ve recently had a tetanus shot, right?”
You were running around naked two hours later.
make you wear clothes, however. In fact, you’ve never gone out in public without an essential article of clothing like pants or a shirt. I will admit to the time I became THAT MOM and took you into Wal Mart barefoot and actually let you get out of the cart. And walk. Barefoot. In the store. My excuse? I’d just spend the past hour trying to get your diaper on. At least your bum was covered up.
Morgan, your personality comes out more and more each day, and I simply can’t get enough of it. I love your energy, your affection, your enthusiasm for life, your infectious laugh, your goofy smile, and I have to admit, I even love your stubbornness. Although it makes my life challenging at times, I’m so very glad it’s a part of you. It may get you into trouble at times, it may lead to some unnecessary hardships in your life, and it may drive the people around you crazy, but it will also be the fuel that keeps you going when you might otherwise give up; it will give you the motivation to help others and the the strength to stand up for yourself; it will be the reason you’ll fight so hard for what you believe in, and once you learn to use it for the right reasons, in the proper situations, it will serve you well.
(Someone who’s been known to be just a bit stubborn herself)
P.S. BEEP! BEEP!