Tuesday, March 22, 2011

A Letter to the Meyers

Dear Rhys,

You are 10 months and 22 days old today and this is the first opportunity I’ve had to sit down and write to you properly. I'm sorry it has taken so long, but you are a time-consuming little nugget!

The things you love most are as follows (in no particular order): ripping my glasses off of my face, balls, the blue light on the satellite TV box, nursing, you bongo drums (indeed, all drums), being pushed around on your toy dinosaur, sitting on your Daddy’s shoulders, combing my hair, your shape sorter, swings, straws, spoons, Yo Gabba Gabba!, brushing your chubby little hands noisily over the a/c grate outside of your room, electrical cords (unfortunately), being worn in your Ergo, going for walks, blocks, and watching me sing and dance. You are for certain the only person in the history of the universe who has ever enjoyed my singing and/or dancing.

The list of things you hate is short and includes having your diaper and/or clothes changed and being buckled into your car seat.

Oh, and eating! At least eating for your mama. I’m told you devour the three bowls of food I send with you to daycare every day, yet at home and on the weekends? You want nothing to do with solid food. What gives, baby bear?

You started crawling about a month and a half ago and you’re now unstopable. You are especially adept at throwing balls. And at saying ball! You have several words: Ball, Wow, Nice, Hi, Bye, This, What, Uh Oh, Wow, Nom Nom, I Got, Mama and Dada. You say Dada much more often than you say Mama, but I’m certain that when you’ve said my name, you’ve known what it means. I’ve caught you trying to piece together a few other words too . . . like “bub bub” for bubbles . . . and you have a zillion silly noises and are coming up with new ones every day. Just last night you stared making a “th . . .th” noise with your tongue stuck all the way out. You paddled around the house “th . . . th”-ing like a little robot with a skipping voice box.

You are starting to mimic every little thing your Daddy and I do. You’ll grab my comb and set to work on my hair or pick up my phone and put it to your ear. My favorite is when you pick up a baby puff or cracker, or grab your spoon and dip it into your bowl, then offer your food to your Daddy or I instead of eating it yourself. You know we feed you (or try to), and so you feed us.

You’ve started using your toys appropriately, instead of just banging them around. You’ll drum your drums, sort your shape cubes and you’ve even made a few scratches with a crayon.

I am ridiculiously proud of everything you do and think you are the smartest, kindest, most beautiful child ever to live.

You spend the first part of most nights in your crib, but I’m always secretly happy when you wake up and want to be taken into our bed and snuggled. You like to stretch out while you’re sleeping, and while you stretch you screw your face up like a little grumpy old man’s. You tend to fall asleep pouting, and your baby breath smells like clouds. In other words, I wake up most mornings nose to nose with a pouting, cloud breathed gnome. It is the best way on earth to wake up.

You’re becoming more independent. When I drop you off at daycare in the mornings, you’re happy to play with your friends. I come and visit you every day at lunchtime. Initially, I visited to nurse you, but you haven’t been hungry during my visits lately. So these past few weeks we’ve played instead. Around the time I visit you’re usually either engrossed in some big plastic toy, playing with bubbles or balls, sometimes listening to music or playing on the slides in your daycare’s side yard. Maria is your main caretaker at daycare and she obviously adores you, and you her. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous . . . I would love to be the one to spend all day with you, blowing bubbles, reading books and helping you down the slide. I’m glad though, that you have her, and it makes me happy to see how you’ve won her, and your playmates, over.

You do have actual, honest to goodness playmates. A little girl named Maggie, about a year older than you, who likes to pet your hair and call you “Bear”, since she’s heard me call you Bear so many times. You’ve also got a little friend named Zack, again about a year older, who throws his hands up in the air and gleefully cries “RHYS!!!!!” every morning when I drop you off.

Your Daddy and I almost never call you Rhys, by the way. You are Meyers, The Meyers, Meyersy Meyers and “How’d you get so Meyersy, Meyers?”. Sometimes you are also Bear Bear.

Not to post blog entries about your butt, but OMG your butt is so soft. I’ve heard the expression “as soft as a baby’s bottom” but really, Meyersy Meyers, your butt is exceptionally soft. Your Daddy and I pat it like a Buddah belly every time we change your diaper.

You have a little patch of fluffy, fuzzy hair on the back of your head from sleeping. We use conditioner on it, and sometimes a bit of Aquaphor, but there is very little we can do to keep your little fluff head contained.

There is little your Daddy and I love more than taking you places on the weekends. We have passes to Disneyland and so we go there pretty often. We also go to the zoo, the observatory, parks, hiking, to baby classes like Remo Drums, Kindermusik and Gymboree. Showing you the world has been one big joyful project for us and we’re always excited to see when we’re blowing your mind. About a month ago you learned to say “Wow”, so now you can tell us specifically when we’re blowing your mind, instead of letting us read it on your face. We took you to Disneyland a few weeks ago and heard a chorus of “Wow”s. Wow on the carousel. Wow on the circus train. Wow on Pirates. We rode Small World, seated at the front of the boat, and you grabbed on to the hand rail and bounced on your Daddy's knee, smiling and looking around the whole time, like a little bobbing figurehead.

Is it any wonder we adore you so much? You straight rule, Meyers. You are the best thing your Daddy and I have ever done.


Your Mama