Here's The Thing About Peg Peg

Dear Laney,

If finding a bargain was an Olympic event, your grandmother would take home the Gold. She thinks about you every time she goes shopping. I know this, because every week, a new box of clothes and goodies arrives at our mailbox.

If nothing else, you are the best-dressed baby in Alberton.

But here's the thing: Your grandmother loves you very much, and she's a sucker. If I tell her you could use a pair of brown pants, she sends six.

Try not to use this power for Evil.

Love,

Mom

He Who Shall Be Named Later

Dear Laney,

Your grandfather Philip from Georgia came to visit us this Thanksgiving. He doesn't like mountains or snow, so you must be pretty special.

He put your stroller together and wheeled you around the grocery store while I shopped. And after Thanksgiving dinner, he let you be on our Trivial Pursuit team, even though you obviously don't know anything about Geography or Science and Nature yet.

It's interesting how you can know your parents your whole life, but when they become grandparents, you see them in a whole new way. It's so nice to get to sit back and watch everyone fall in love with you.

Philip says that he doesn't want to be called Grandpa, so you'll have to come up with a great name for him when you get a little older. I'm sure you'll think of something great that doesn't make him sound too old.

Love,

Mom

You and Your Fingers

Dear Laney,

For the longest time, you had this love/hate relationship with your fingers. Sometimes, you would manage to accidentally get one of your fingers in your mouth and you would be SO HAPPY - it was like someone had given you the BEST TREAT EVER. But then your arm would jerk, and your fingers would go flying away from your mouth and you would be VERY VERY ANGRY.

We all thought it would be a wonderful day when you learned that YOU are the one in control of those fingers, and you can have them any time you want.

Well, it finally happened. You figured out that you are in charge of your hands, and you're taking advantage of it. You've taste-tested all of your fingers, and so far, it seems like you like your index fingers the best.

We're happy for you.

Love,

Mom

The Tantrum Stops Here

I don't want to cuddled.

Don't want to be held.

Don't like to be looked at, talked to

or smelled.

Don't want to sing songs

Don't want to play

I'm just mad as hell

Someone's ruined my day.

My face is bright red

My screaming? Full throttle!

No, I DON'T want a back rub

a boob or a bottle.

I put on a show

the whole house - my stage

I'm quite the performer:

16 Pounds Of Rage!

Mom looks like hell

Daddy's gone for a beer

So I guess for today...

The tantrum stops here.

Short People Got Nobody

Dear Laney,

There's a song by Randy Newman called "Short People," that goes:

They got little baby legs
That stand so low
You got to pick em up
Just to say hello
They got little cars
That go beep, beep, beep
They got little voices
Goin' peep, peep, peep

I thought about it the first time I put you in your Jumperoo, and had to put a pillow under your feet so you could touch the ground.

I am very sorry you will never play in the WNBA. Blame your dad.

Love,

Mom