A couple of weeks ago, you turned 21 months old. Yes, a couple of WEEKS ago. And thus, this month’s letter is frightfully late. In my defense, you and I were in Hungary a couple of weeks ago when this milestone happened, where we were much too busy to write letters, what with all the Metro-riding, thermal bathing, bird-feeding, city-walking, and Ischler-eating. Nevertheless, I did not want to let this month pass by without at least touching on a few things.
Firstly, let me just say that you are a wonderful traveler. A fantastic WORLD TRAVELER. Indeed, by now you are a seasoned pro at this transatlantic flying business, having spent a total of 38 hours at 35,000 miles up in the air during your short 21 months of life. This does not count the long hours spent in transit, which is a tribulation all its own – especially if you happen to be in Frankfurt, as we’ve found.
Once on the ground, you immediately set out to charm the Hungarian side of your family, smiling and acting like you already knew them. I think you felt the kinship and love right away. Through the course of our stay, you developed a friendship with each member of the family, which was expressed in some of the following ways: hanging around Grandma in the kitchen while she cooked, following her around and finding a tall doorstep as your perch, where you could stay close; your face lighting up every time Grandpa entered the room, your hand going up in a wave; clinging for dear life to Barbara, wrapping your arms and legs around her, not wanting to let go. Calling each of them by name.
I know that from now on, you will surely remember your Papa, Mami, and Barbara. And they will cherish having known you as a 21-month-old.
One of the best things was that you really began imitating every word you heard us speak. Perhaps you just needed to hear a single language spoken for a length of time by many people. It was great. For two weeks, you repeated everything, so I shouldn’t have been too surprised when at Dulles Airport on our way back, you exclaimed “Coca” as I opened a bottle of Coca-Cola. I said, what did you just say, and you repeated it with a big grin, clearly asking for the drink. My delight at this utterance was such that I actually gave you some and this encouraged you to repeat “Coca” over and over, like a mantra, in quest of the sweet caramel-colored fuzzy liquid. As a result, you now like Coca-Cola. (sigh) And we now have the task of not giving you Coca-Cola out of our inability to resist the adorableness every time you grin and ask so sweetly.
By the way, this has now become an inside joke between us, or kind of like the punch line to a joke. At any time, even as you are drifting off to sleep, I need only to mention the word “Coca” to have you break into a knowing smile.
There were new accomplishments this month, one of them when you scribbled purposefully on the Doodle Pro (magnetic drawing board), then pointed to it, saying CAR! You are also making connections that often surprise us. Like when we are driving to pick up Daddy and we get to a certain point in the road, you always yell out “Daddy,” recognizing the way to Daddy’s workplace. You associate bookstores with the trains you usually play with there, so when we entered a bookstore in Hungary, you started running to the back saying “Choo-choo!” only to find that they do things differently there (there was a play corner with toys, board and chalk, but no trains).
There were a few challenging occasions at the end of our trip, when we were sightseeing for many hours a day and you were in the stroller. You do great in the stroller and people remark how content you are for long periods (some days up to 7-8 hours with short breaks, I’m not kidding). The problem came not when you were in the stroller, but when you’d come out. You would run around happily until I eventually needed you to hold my hand (or anyone else’s for that matter), which you would absolutely refuse. Any and all attempts to redirect you to go this way or that were met with severe resistance, noodle legs, the arching of your back, LOUD GROWLING, and thrashing around, like a wild animal.
Was it the endless hours that you had spent restrained in the stroller and your urgent need for unrestricted freedom when you were finally out? Was it the bad teething you were experiencing at the time, which we all know can try the patience of the best of them? Or was it that you also missed your nap on a couple of those days, which can completely change the manner of a young child?
LET this be a lesson to you: don't put your child in a stroller for so many hours!
In retrospect, requiring you to sit in the stroller for hours on end was probably most of the problem. The other day we went walking with a good friend of mine who has three children and you sat through the 1.5-hour walk contentedly in your stroller. I thought nothing of it, but she called this “extraordinary.” So the fact that you often sat for hours before there was a chance to come out for a break, then were back in the stroller for hours again speaks for unusual patience on your part.
But at the time, I felt that you were acting like a little terror (or as Ivana Trump would put it, like a “barbarian”) and I was quite taken aback that my sweet pleasant child, who previously knew how to hold my hand and how to obey re-direction, could transform so drastically. To be fair, these were only brief moments in days that were otherwise cheerful and good. You were always quick to get over the tantrum and get back to enjoying your day. In fact, they seemed to disturb me more than you, as I do not enjoy curtailing your happy freedom and thereby causing you distress. So I got a little inventive in order to still let you go AND keep you safe (I’m proud to say, without the use of a leash!) and we had a really fun time as I made a game out of your running back and forth between us at Heroes’ Square – without your running off and out into traffic!
Our travel back to the US went very well. You allowed yourself to be entertained and lulled to sleep by Mama on the 9-hour flight. Your most severe “offense” was repeating “Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba...” endlessly once for about 3 minutes, which elicited the disapproving loud shushing of one passenger, who was by all evidence - childless. What’s more, I’ll speculate that she has never encountered children before, ever, in her lifetime. Daddy says that this passenger is lucky that he was not there to witness her loud shushing. I say, this passenger is lucky that you didn’t give her an earful of your LOUD GROWLING that you had just perfected in the preceding days. There’s no doubt in my mind that all of her loud shushing would have been NO MATCH FOR THAT.
Love,
Mama
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