River News: Month Eighteen

Happy Year and a Half, Mr. Biver Butt!

























I'm finding myself a bit overwhelmed lately, my son. This month we moved into a new home and it is a lovely, large house which we will all be able to grow into. It has taken an unbelievable amount of effort to deal with packing, unpacking, and fixing all of those many new-house bugs (Um, washer and dryer? Still not working). We've also been without a consistent babysitter for about two months, so I've been managing all of this while in the half-sleepy fog of early morning and during your too-brief naps. As of this moment, I have decided to never move again. Hope you like this house, 'cause you'll be here for a long time!



















So I'm sorry this letter is once again late; it brings me back to that old idea that I can live this life or write about it, but--at this rate--probably not both.



















You have had an amazing month. I can't believe how much of a LITTLE BOY you are. You are infinitely fascinated with all things big and motorized. Trains! Trucks! Planes! Knowing how much you enjoyed watching construction vehicles, one particularly busy afternoon, I decided to break the ban on TV and see if you would enjoy watching Bob the Builder. Up until this point your only exposure to children's programming was the Saturday morning cartoons daddy or I would throw on in an attempt to zone out for a few more minutes of those precious weekend mornings (who gets up at 6am on a Saturday?!?!). Even that would get us a couple minutes of respite at most, and I was so proud of my son who had no interest in TV.










































Then came Bob. After two minutes of watching Bob and his crew building you had learned to say "Bob-Bob!" and "House!" You were hooked. I can't tell you how often I have heard you ask for this show in the past month. It's a dangerous temptation, this TV thing; to know I could get ten minutes to check email or make dinner seems an undeniable luxury. We've resisted pretty well. I would like TV time to be a special treat for you, not something routine in your life, and so far that seems to be how it's working.





































Away from that black box of temptation, you have seen so many things this month. One morning, after you had asked to read your train book for the billionth time, your dad and I decided take you to see one up close. Off we went to the T station and got on board for a trip to nowhere, just to fulfill your jones for trains. More times than I can count we have stopped at construction sights, waited while ambulances with sirens blaring passed by, paused by fire stations, and searched out playgrounds where planes and helicopters pass overhead, all so you could see some of your favorite steel behemoths.



















You have words or signs for all of your favorite vehicles and our library of books about of trains, planes, and automobiles has grown exponentially. Perhaps as much as the words "choo choo" and "trash" (garbage truck - one of your favorites), I have heard the word "turtle" an unbelievable amount. You love animals. You love seeing them on the street, visiting them in museums, looking at them in books, and acting like them whenever the mood strikes. Turtles, monkeys, owls, mice, and bears; they all inspire your imagination. As an animal lover myself, I couldn't be more happy.

























I think the biggest challenge this month (aside from figuring out how to get you your next train fix) has been sleep. Your dad and I just realized that it has been almost exactly a year from when we last dealt with incredible, horrible sleep problems with you, and I think maybe, like me, you are highly affected by the change of seasons. Without the evening or morning light to guide you, you wake up not knowing what time it is. Last night was the worst, with a half hour waking at 1am, then you were up for the day at 4am. Let me repeat that: You Were Up For the Day at 4AM. Your dad and I are starting to remember what your infancy was like, and we are not enjoying it one bit. For one thing, you don't have all of that glorious pudge, and for another you seem to be able to cry for a lot longer.

























So I would describe myself this month as exhausted, overworked, and undernourished, and I would describe you as somewhat frustrating, but undeniably amazing.



















I love you,
Mommy