J, you’re 20 months old, now.  Crazy, isn’t it?  Well, maybe not for you, but it certainly is for me.  You’re becoming more than just that cute kid who booby-traps the hallway with books and blocks for Daddy’s midnight stroll to the kitchen or bathroom.  You’re becoming someone with opinions and, gasp…words.

Even though you’ve probably noticed that there are a few extra books around here and that Mama’s dusted off the highlighter to draw in those books, you’re still as much in the spotlight as ever.  You add your own books to the mix, dropping them in my lap and firmly insisting, “Up!” “Up!” I’ve memorized the pictures and words to both the Pat-a-Cake and that Christmas story books, and you’re helping me along as you point to the Christmas star, saying “Staaaar!” and the cow, saying “Mooooo!” and Jesus, saying “Baby!”  

Sometimes you’ll surprise me with a “What are you doing?”  Sometimes I’m scared.  I think you already say, “S**t!” at the appropriate (well, actually it’s inappropriate, but you get the idea) time.  I don’t say it.  Dad doesn’t say it.  Did Grandpa teach you something when I wasn’t in earshot?

Your favorite word?  Shoe.  I think you think it’s interchangeable with, “We’re going outside to play!”

Sorry.  It’s not.

It seems like in just a day or two you’ve gone from stubbornly pointing to your ear when asked to identify any body part to pointing to the correct part.  You don’t even stick your finger in your nose when I ask you to point to your nose.  I must say, you definitely don’t take after your father in that respect.

You can use a spoon, and I’ve given up on the block-piling because they bore me when you’re so interested in reading and telling me what’s going on in those books.  I’m writing you off as perfectly normal despite us.  

You surprise us daily, kid, and we love it almost as much as we love you.