Another winter has caught us all unawares. That means a few harrowing near misses on the highway, the even more harrowing trip to the mall, and a Christmas letter from the Smiths; hopefully not harrowing.
The biggest news is that we are expecting another baby this January. Apparently the mist of time has romanticized changing thirty diapers a day on no sleep. But, we're pretty excited. There is a marked decrease in our nervousness, under the rather false assumption that because we've gone through this before 2 years ago, we totally know what we're doing this time around. I suspect there will be many moments of us cleaning up the floor, table, and bedsheets muttering, “Oh yeaaah, I forgot about that.”.
We're pretty certain it's a boy, which is good for balance. Visions of losing every video vote to another romantic comedy no longer haunt me. On the other hand, having to decipher the whole sports thing, should our son be into that, fills me with a new kind of cold, cold fear.
Owlet is now two. She runs faster and everywhere. She can get into trouble quicker than you can say “HOLY CRAP I CAN'T BELIEVE SHE DIDN'T BREAK ANYTHING”. Luckily she gives us a small warning by looking at us seriously and announcing, “Me run”, then booting it.
Her babbling has become bubblier and often swerves into coherency. Sometimes it's even coherent to us. This has made things great for communication, bad for frustration. It's as if she realizes that if only we understood what “BUDARDAM TRACKER” (“Peanut Butter and Jam Crackers”) means, all would be well .
Songs play a big part in her life too. She's at the stage where she can never hear quite enough renditions of “Baby Beluga”. Honestly. Never, enough. It's our ardent hope that exposure to music helps her brain develop better because Raffi ad nauseum can't be good for an adult's brain. I'm sure we're not the first nor the last parents to harbour fantasies of breaking into his studio, trashing all his sheet music then doing a howling pagan dance around a burning guitar pyre.
She's big into Dr. Seuss. That is, we're big into Dr. Seuss. We had no idea that so many many children's books are 'hit me over the hammer and sideswipe me with a camper' boring. I mean, please, make it rhyme, at least. Luckily, she can't get enough of “One Fish Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish”, and neither can we; so far.
Owing entirely to Mary's social graces, Owlet has become quite the people person. She strikes up conversation with anyone who gives her the briefest of glances, and is quick to say “Bye 'body!”when leaving, say, a doctors office full of waiting patients. I suppose whispering in her ear and telling her to say 'Hi' to old women smitten by her has something to do with her gregariousness. What can we say, she gives high entertainment value. She's learned, and says with alarming regularity, 'Tankew' for nearly everything given to her. It's fantastic. Makes us realize what impolite boors we are, but still, fantastic.
Work, like so many things in life after school, remains a static routine that neither quickens the pulse nor leaves us in the throes of existential angst. And with the way the entire world economy is taking a dive, we're just happy to be still working. Personally I can't wait for the comeback of speakeasies and vaudeville.I guess I'm a silver lining sort of guy.
We hope this letter finds you well and wish you all the best for the season, and the three other seasons, while we're at it.
All the Best,