Dear Westley,
I taught you a gesture for "all done" kind of by accident when you were really teeny. Arms thrust out to the side, back straight, penguin-like: "all done." You still do it all the time. At dinner a few weeks ago, you put your arms out to sign "all done." Daddy asked you if you were all done, and you said, "Uh-huh." He picked you up, and set your feet on the floor. You took off running towards the bookshelf while your dad and I went back to eating. Thirty seconds later, you came back to the table with a book and held it out to me. I told you, "Honey, I'm still eating." You did your little penguin-flap "all done" sign at me. I don't know if you were reminding me that you were all done or telling me that I should be all done, but your dad and I are still laughing about it.
You make us laugh all the time. Sometimes we just watch you run through the house, and we laugh because we can't believe you. You're too cute, too sweet, too much.
Some days I feel like my head is going to explode. Your energy and craziness move three times faster than my energy on my most energetic days. All you want to do is be outside, exploring. You can walk around and around the outside of my parents' house for what seems like hours. You can walk for miles.
Riding in the car is almost never your idea. You'd rather walk, thank you. You're a lousy traveler, like me, and I can already hear the beginnings of "are we there yet?" in your grunts and fussing noises from the back seat.
Today, we only had a short distance to drive from the fruit market to home, but you couldn't stand it any more. And you wouldn't let me help you. Nothing I offered--books, toys, pacifier, sippy-cup of milk, promises of "we're almost there"--helped you, and you continued to whine and fuss. I felt the early-warning twinges of head-explosion, and decided you were punishing me: "You're making me crazy! Is that what you're trying to do?"
"Uh-huh," came the reply from the back seat.
I love you like crazy, Monkey.
Mommy
