Letter to Lance

My precious, precious boy,

A couple days ago, you turned 18 months old.

It's taken you months and months, but you have finally learned to call me "Mama." I wondered if you would ever figure out that "Daddy" was not my name, too.

You love to look for bugs when we go outside.

If we would let you, you would climb on all the furniture. You're such a little monkey!

Your favorite way to spend the evening is in Daddy's lap, drinking chocolate milk that he made specially for you. Then you climb out of his lap, climp up into mine, and we read stories together.

You love to fall asleep to the sounds of Norah Jones, Petra, Kenny Loggins, and Sting.

You have a whole roomful of stuffed animals, but your favorite is a small teddy bear that belonged to me when I was a little girl.

Your vocabulary has expanded to include the following words:

dog
duck
horse
bug
two
go
eat
up
sky
ball
book
drum
baby

You used to like going to Miss Beckie's for a haircut, but for some reason, you're afraid of it now.

You're also afraid of the vacuum cleaner, when it runs. If it's not running, you think it's great fun to pull all the attachments off of it and hide them around the house.

During a thunderstorm, I take you to the back patio and we sit under the screened-in porch and watch the rain come down. If it starts lightning, only then do we go back inside. Then we stand at the window and watch the storm pass by. Sometimes you get scared and you want me to hold you close, yet you can't take your eyes off the sky because it fascinates you.

The ladies who work in the church nursery just love you to pieces.

I can't say that I blame them!

You make my world a sweet place to be. Nap well, little one, and when you wake I shall scoop you up in my arms and kiss you, and you will smile at me-- the kind of smile that fills a mommy's heart with warm sunshiny love.