Dear Scarlette,
When you were in the NICU, I sang to you a lot. In the month before I was allowed to hold you, I would open one of the little porthole doors on your isolette so that you could wrap one of your tiny hands around my finger and I would sing to you until my voice was raw. Your mommy is a big Taylor Swift fan and right before you were born your daddy bought me her newest album. This song was on it and I would sing it to you, except I would change the words from “oh, darlin’ don’t you ever grow up, just stay this little” to “oh, Scarlette won’t you please grow up, don’t stay this little”
Don’t tell anyone, but your daddy still sings it that way when he indulges me in selecting the music on car trips.
The funny thing is, you’re growing up so fast but I guess you’re also staying pretty little. Like, that skirt you’re wearing? It’s a size 0-3 months. It was so big when I put it on you this time last year. You were five months old, just home from the hospital, and I was so excited to put you in real clothes. Now at 17 months, it fits just right and you walk around the house holding the bottom of it out to show me how it twirls.
I’m going to have to write this months letter in two parts because you are doing so many new things that I could pen a novel about how amazing you are. And sassy. And funny.
Lately your favorite thing to do is to show us what a dinosaur does. You’ll put your hands above your head and roar at us. I took you to the grocery store the other day and the lady at the deli told me that these years “just soar by”. And apparently you think anything that sounds like “dinosaur” merits a performance, so you treated her to one. Then she called over her co-workers and you put on a show for all of them. They tried to give you a cookie but since you can’t quite manage those yet, you got a slice of cheese instead. Then you signed “more” to them and they were done for.
The honest to goodness truth is that I love when people make a fuss over you. I do. I think you are just the most special girl and I love sharing that with other people. Obviously, I was meant to be a mommy blogger.
You can say “hi, mama, dada, and go” regularly but you are mimicking us often. I swore I was never going to call you “princess” but I totally do. I go in to get you in the mornings and you are so sweet and happy and charming and it just comes out before I can stop it. I’ve decided I am okay with that because this morning I said “Hi Princess!” and you said “Hi, inces!” and then I died of cuteness overload. I mean, COME ON. That is so cute.
Right now your favorite thing in the world is to be chased, specifically by your daddy. You shriek and giggle and sometimes fall down because you’re laughing so hard that you can’t remember how to run at the same time. I normally cook dinner to the sound of your little feet pitter pattering across the floor, if not running from your daddy then you’re chasing Lucy Dog into a corner while furiously signing “doggie” at her. Somehow you got the idea that you are the boss of her and surprisingly, she completely indulges you.
You love music (right now you “ask” me to play Free Fallin’ over and over again by pointing to it) and then you’ll stand in the middle of the floor and dance to it. First of all, you have great taste in music. Second of all, I hope you get your rhythm from your daddy because mommy was asked to leave three different dance classes due to her lack of it. Seriously Scarlette, I failed at jazz hands. And clogging. Clogging isn’t even real dancing. Sorry Shawnie.
Aunt Stephanie let you borrow one of your cousin’s toys that sticks to the fridge and plays music. You love to push the button to make it play and then run to the center of the kitchen and start dancing to it. You’re killin’ me, smalls.
I hear you waking up from your nap so I’ll have to finish this another day.
Remember, I’d give all I have, honey.
Love, Mommy
