Housekeeping at Twenty Four Months

Dear Milo,

This installment is a bit late because I haven't had much time between Halloween, your birthday, and the birth of your cousin to sit down at the computer with a nice stretch of time to think about you and what I want to document about the last month. Let me start by saying that you are a joy, every day, every minute, even when you are refusing to put your socks on or attempting to open every single gate between 8th Avenue and 7th Avenue.

We just got back from a trip that would have knocked an adult flat out (I slept 13 hours myself last night) and with the exception of a few yelps of "I want to get OOOOUUUUTTT!" somewhere in the middle of Delaware, you were a trooper. You found everything about the trip exciting, from running around the hotel room yelling "This is a hotel! This is a hotel!" to the fact that the doors on the Metro go "Do-do-do-do" instead of "Bing-bong" as they do in the NYC subway.

You've also become extremely affectionate, giving real hugs and kisses, and this morning walking around the apartment with your arms wrapped tight around both Little Monkey and Panda Bear because you wanted them to be friends. You like to pet Oscar, and start out each day asking Oscar "Do you want a treat Oscar? I have a special treat for you."

The other major development of the past month or so is your ability to tell jokes. For some reason you think that "Pickles and onions" is a hilarious response to a range of questions, and in general you're right. You also think it's a riot to insist on using the wrong word in some cases, which is without a doubt a trait you inherited from your great-grandfather. Yesterday you sat in a plane at the Air and Space museum and insisted that you were "driving" the plane despite all the adults in the room being pretty sure the correct word when it comes to planes is "flying." This morning when I left you were telling your nanny about the plane and when you saw me come into the room you added "Milo DROVED it. DROVE it DROVE it DROVE it," and then doubled over laughing.

You also love word play, which I guess isn't surprising. Yesterday you looked at the letter W and said, "Double-you? Double me!"

Music: still big. You know all the words to a whole range of songs, and sometimes you can even carry a tune, which leads me to believe that you might be able to sing when you get older. You love your guitar and your "pinano" and usually demand to listen to music during most meals, singing along with songs like "Cows" and "Belly Button" and occasionally Desmond Dekker, Harry Belafonte, and Simon and Garfunkel.

Mops: finally waning, thank God. You still note their existence, but you have largely moved on to construction equipment and trucks. You know the difference between most types of construction equipment ("That's a front end loader. That's a excavator. Look at that big, big bulldozer. That's a tiny little forklift."), which means that I, too, have reached a level of fluency when it comes to heavy machinery that I never anticipated needing in my lifetime.

You're everything I could have wanted in a child: happy, energetic, into everything, funny, and like any good little Jewish boy, you love your Mama.

Also, you're beautiful:


Love,
Mama