Dear Andy,

Here you are at 14 1/2 months. This time last year, I was preparing to go back to work after our glorious maternity leave together. Hard to believe how fast time has gone by. When I left you last year for work, you barely acknowledged me- you were hardly aware that I was leaving the room, much less the house, much less the county. Now, you know. And our mornings are hectic and terrible and wonderful because you cling to me like a monkey child and bury your head in my chest and link your arm through mine, and if you could properly talk, I know you'd beg me to stay and try to bribe me with some of your Sesame Street crackers. When I leave you and Daddy behind in the bedroom in the morning, closing the door behind me on my way downstairs and out of the house, you bang and bang on the door with your sweet little fists, crying out after me. When you say Mama, it sounds a little like Emma. So, I guess I am only assuming in the mornings that you are yearning for me, Mama, and not for some cute little girl you met named Emma.

But then we have the afternoons, when I walk into day care, and it can be the brightest spot in my day. You run up to me and give me a big hug and snuggle up against me while we walk out to the car. And it makes me feel finally alive again, after so many hours of missing you.

Funny story- The other day, a little girl ran up to me at day care and reached me before you did. She reached for me, arms up and extended, and you didn't seem to like that one bit. My mama, I could almost hear you say. You elbowed her aside, shoved her back, and assumed your spot before me, reaching up for what you knew was yours. And even though that little girl was visibly upset at being shoved by Andy B., I couldn't help but giggle a little.

Oh man, I've created a Mama's Boy Monster. But, it's all good. I will take it while I can, because the growing goes too fast.

Here are a couple snapshots from recently:

Superman pajamas. I put you to bed in them whenever I can, and then the next morning, after breakfast, I get to watch Superman running around my kitchen in a blur. Clark Kent: The Early Years.

Books. Finally, you like reading! You hand me your cardboard books, settle in on my lap, and we can get through a whole story together. Love it. It is very important to me to raise a reader- I hope you continue to like reading together as much as I do.

Dogs. I think I've mentioned how much you like dogs. Oh man, do you like dogs. You love Cali, the neighbor's dog the best. She's big and golden and soft and sweet, and you let her put her tongue in your mouth sometimes. I'm definitely not okay with that, but at the same time, I kind of just let it happen. You say "Dah" when you see a dog.

Balloons. You might like balloons even more than you like dogs.

Baths. Oh, yes, you definitely like baths. Possibly even more than balloons and dogs. The other night, you stood by the stairs and pointed up, so I picked you up and let you crawl up the flight (you're very good at doing that now), and when you got to the landing, you stood up, resumed pointing, and toddled right into the bathroom, where you tried to use the step stool to hoist yourself straight into the tub. When you hear the water running, you go nuts. I have to restrain you. You love tub time, and there's always a few tears when tub time is over.

Smarts. Your memory is pretty damn incredible, and if I hide something, you don't forget where I've stashed it. If I change something in the house (bought a new ottoman last week), you inspect the change immediately (hey, this ottoman wasn't here before!). Also, brought you across the street to the neighbor's house, and they have the same model as us. In the kitchen, you looked around and then walked straight to the cabinet that would have been the same cabinet in our house where I keep the tupperware for you to play with. I thought that was amazing, that you could look at a similiar but different setting and deduce where you might find something. There was not any tupperware in that particular cabinet, though, so I guess you weren't THAT amazing...

Clapping. Since Daddy and I clap every time you do something good, now sometimes when you do something you think is correct, you look at us and cautiously start clapping on your own. Adorable, Andy.

I love you. I love you so much that my heart feels like it's going to explode sometimes with all the love.