Wednesday, November 4, 2009

Number 19, and Already Working on the Terrible You Know Whats

Dear Sabrina,

Holy growth spurt, you may have actually doubled in size this month. So many of the clothes I put on you are suddenly too snug, too short, too everything. You look like a tiny Baby Hulk. It’s a good thing you grandma and I like to shop for you and therefore have a stockpile to cute things for you that will (hopefully) fit. Seasonal appropriateness is questionable though (hey, it’s a risk buying this far ahead, not knowing when your growth rate is going to approach the speed of sound, and the weather changes – drastically – every 3 days here anyway).

Your language repertoire is expanding just as rapidly. I’m amazed on a daily basis at what words pop out of your mouth. You can even tell me what (educational) game Sammy is playing in the computer when your spying on him – I mean watching and learning. However, I could do without that additional skill of Demanding (yes, with a capital D) food All. The. Time.

I also see that you seem to be developing the talent to be a successful criminal, specifically a thief or perhaps a cat burglar. I can turn around, and you’ll have something in your hands that I didn’t know you knew existed. And then you run off with it with a grin of devilish pride, presumably to bury it somewhere. We’ll have to start exploring other occupational options tout suite, my dear.

The bottom line is you’re a crazy bundle of joy and fun and frustration that can incite giggles and fury in the same minute. I’m sure you’ll be using this power to completely confuse boys about a decade from now. You daddy is shopping for a shotgun on that eventuality. I can’t wait to see what’s next from you. Bring it on.

Love,

Mom

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