21

Dear Matthew,

Yesterday your daddy got you up from your nap. He carried you downstairs and stopped in front of the tree. It isn't decorated yet but that didn't matter. Your eyes widened with an awe that suggested that you have no recollection of Christmas last year. If looks could talk yours would have said, "Why the heck is there a tree in our house?"

I can't believe it's already your second Christmas season, that you're 21 months old and you've reached an age where we have to have a fence around the tree. I'm so excited about the holiday this year. Last year I was so terrified that it would be our only Christmas with you. I tried to remember every little thing in the event that I'd never get to see your reactions to lights, decorations and the magic of Christ's birth. Yesterday, after your first look at the tree, you toddled down to the family room and examined all the decorations. I told you to look and not to touch and you obeyed. Mostly. There happens to be a stuffed dog with a Santa hat and you would have no part of not snuggling the heck out of him.

This past month you had a verbal explosion. Shoe. Sock. No-no! Sorry. Bible. And on and on. Last week, while we were visiting daddy's family in Oregon, I said, "Say 'goodnight to Grandma.' Say 'I love you.'" And you looked right at her and said, "Lub ew!"

And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't jealous because, for the life of me, I can't get you to say it again. To anyone. Least of all me. But you throw your chubby arms around my neck and plant your lips on mine so I'm pretty sure the attachment is mutual.

You had a blast playing with your cousins last week. You're the baby. By far. So they enjoyed making you the monster and running. You chased them, giggling the entire time. Eventually they'd let you catch them and all of you would dissolve into laughter.

You are learning and growing so quickly these days. Today you lost a shoe and I couldn't find it. Your brother couldn't find it. Frustrated, I finally looked at you and said, "Where is your shoe?" You grunted and pointed and yelled shoe! I followed your finger into the playroom. "Where?" More grunting and pointing. I followed your finger over to the basketball hoop. You squatted down and pointed. Sure enough, there, in the hole in the base, was your shoe. Smarty pants. I should have asked you in the first place!