Whenever you feel passionate about something, it always makes me daydream about your future career as an adult. For example, over the past month, I have become convinced that you will be a musician. You LOVE music. You want to know what every song is called, who sings it, what they are saying and sometimes even which CD it is on. You dance and now you even make up your own lyrics. Your cup of water, fist or empty paper towel roll make excellent microphones for your original songs. My favorite is a little ditty I like to call, "I Can't Help It." The lyrics are pretty much those words over and over again with some "oh baby"s thrown in there and some words that I don't understand. I'm guess that language is from your home planet. You're quite the performer. You already have a band name picked out and everything (such a waste that I didn't go into journalism, right?):
Your other new love is the telephone. You are obsessed with talking on the phone and beg me to call Gam, Bubba and Auntie Ariel everyday. You always have "four things" to tell them. The conversations often go really well. But I bet that they would be even more productive if you weren't running around the house with the phone, covering the mouthpiece and frequently speaking your native language. It makes it hard for me to interpret.
You seem less interested in arts and crafts and more interested in puzzles and reading lately. You've been "reading" to me lately, which I really enjoy. It helps that you have every book memorized. You love playing with word puzzles in particular and I think you now know the sound that every letter makes. Or almost all of them. You still count into the teens and even have started to give good old number 7 a place in the line up again. We missed you, number 7.
Still loving your sense of humor. The other day, as I went to take you out of the car seat, you asked me what was in the holes of your buckle. Before I could reply "worms," YOU told me worms. And when I told you that that was what I was going to say, you told me that I could say something else. Like rats.
Okay, well on second thought, let me say that most of the time I love your sense of humor. I was not a fan the other day when you thought it was funny to yell, "Gassy. Pee pee. Poop!" over and over again from the cart while we shopped at Target. Thanks for that one, Nate. I'll be sure to remember that when your first girlfriend comes over.
I love you, little bug. More than tongue can tell.