Dear Charlotte,

On Tuesday you went shopping for your Aunt R’s wedding dress with: Gigi, Poppa, Grandma, Aunt R, and Auntie E.  All weekend long, you were excited about TRYING! ON! A! BEAUTIFUL! WEDDING! DRESS! so I packed your diaper bag with a pink twirly dress that you had never seen before.

I wish I had been there to see the look on your face when you put it on, but judging by the cell phone picture I received, you pretty much thought it kicked ass.  It was the perfect way to celebrate thirty-one months of wonderful, darling, because it was everything you love in the world: a new place, people you love, and a fun dress.

In a moment that goes to show that motherhood has devoured my soul, I showed that grainy little cell phone image to: the optometrist, two of the assistants at the optometrist’s office, a neighbor, and the postal delivery person.  Seriously.  I’m either talking to you or I’m talking about you at all times; it’s ridiculous.  What did I used to talk about?!  I’m reasonably certain that I wasn’t mute.  Surely I talked about SOMETHING before you were born?

ANYWAYS, guess what?  You are finally catching back up physically after The Great Whooping Cough Incident.  Your father and I have seen enormous improvements over the past month, most notably that you are able to run around for extended periods of time without so much as collapsing into a three-hour exhaustion coma.  But the real clue-in that you’re doing better is that EVERYBODY we know has noticed a difference in your stamina and health over the past few weeks.  Just a few days ago, you and I spent THREE HOURS playing in the creek together, sloshing in and out of mud up to your thighs, something that I couldn’t even imagine you being strong enough for six weeks ago.

Before The Great Whooping Cough Incident, your nap was an hour (it was bookended by rest-time, which made it seem longer) – but as you recuperated you spent three, four, sometimes even five hours napping each day.  Now you’ve whittled it back down to needing about two restful hours a day – and you need at least one those to be spent a la snooze, but the other can be spent sleeping or just chilling calmly next to me in bed while we read books.

I never thought I’d say this about a kid who barely naps, but it is freaking awesome.  I will trade naptime for your health any day of the week, Charlotte.

Your great-grandparents have also been in town this month and you love every minute that you get to spend with them.  Watching you develop a relationship with them has meant the world to me.  I am so thankful that you get this time with Gigi and Poppa and I just know that it is the beginning of something extraordinary.

This morning when you woke up and I asked how you would like to spend the day, you told me that you NEEDED to see Gigi’s dogs.  I need to GIVE THEM LOVE, and I need to FEED THEM, and I need to see if THE LITTLE ONE SQUEAKS, you said.

This is a new thing you do, this listing off of things in a lilting voice.  You make lists of everything.  I will build a TOWER, and I will DRAW A PICTURE, and I will CALL GRANDMA, and I will READ SOME BOOKS, you might say, always emphasizing the end bit of the phrase.  It’s the cutest damnedest thing in the world, but for three or four weeks it drove me nuts because I could not figure out where you got it from.

Then a few days ago you asked me what we were doing in the afternoon and I started listing things off using my fingers.  We need to RUN SOME LAUNDRY, and we need to WASH SOME DISHES, and we need to GO TO THE POST OFFICE, and Momma would like to SHOWER, and maybe we can HIT UP THE PARK and HAVE A PICNIC, I said.

There it is.  Mystery solved.

I can’t wait to see what you pick up next.

Your father and I love you more than bears love honey, sweet girl.  And everybody knows that’s an awful lot.

Love,
Momma and Daddy

*** I forgot to charge my camera battery for several weeks in a row, so I’m sorry kiddo but the pictures I took a couple days ago are pretty much it for the month.  In other news: you love those baby carrots we planted in early winter.  The end.