Dear Eleanor,

Yesterday, you turned 16 months old. For most of the past month, I’ve had the Beatles song “I Want to Hold Your Hand” stuck in my head. When you’re reading this someday, you’ll have to look up the Beatles, I’m sure. What is Mom talking about? She is so lame!

That song has been in my head because you’re always reaching for my hand. You only want to play with your toys if I’m beside you. Your dad gets up with you in the morning, but as soon as I come down the stairs, you shriek with joy. As if I’d been lost at sea. For months! Then you take my hand and pull me to the back door so we can play outside.

We took you to Colorado for Uncle Dan’s wedding, and you were the flower girl. We doubted you would be willing to walk down the aisle, but when we handed you a basket of flower petals the night before – wow – it was on. You played with those petals for at least an hour and screamed when we took the basket – YOUR basket – away.

Then we saw the church. The aisle was 22 miles long, so it would take your little legs 16 hours to reach the front of the church. We agreed that I would walk with you and carry you as needed. You weren’t too keen on your outfit, especially your over-priced, uncomfortable shoes. Welcome to womanhood. When we reached the door to walk down the aisle, you hesitated at the site of all those people, but I gave you a little pull, and off we went. You walked the whole way without pause.

The rest of the trip went so smoothly that I can’t believe you’re the same child who joined us on the nightmare vacation last fall. You slept well and loved romping outside in the cool mountain air. We didn’t want to come home.

But we did come home, and you had to endure a big change. We had to start you with a new baby-sitter because the woman who had been watching you took an office job. As I tried to leave the first day, you wrapped yourself around my leg and howled. I knew that you would cry as long as I stayed, so I left with you in tears. I wish wish wish that you could have understood what was happening.

When most people write about motherhood, they write about how it’s the hardest job but also the best job. They write about loving their children unconditionally. All of that is true. The part that fewer people say is this: Motherhood breaks your heart over and over again. When I left you crying with the baby-sitter, I felt like an elephant had trampled across my chest. But for you to do anything good in life, I have to teach you to be brave, courageous, strong. The scariest things you will do in life are also the best things you will do: performing for an audience, visiting a new place, going away to college, falling in love, having a baby. So be brave, Eleanor. My hand might not always be there, but my heart is.

Love,

Mom

Dear Eleanor,

Yesterday you turned 15 months old. Your dad and I were looking through recent photos of you last night, trying to find a picture of you smiling. We looked at photos from the past week. Nothing. Then from two weeks ago. Nope. We had to go back three weeks to find a smile. I do think that you’re having fun, but you take life oh-so-seriously. I’m sure that you’re going to do wonderful work at the UN or on the Supreme Court someday.

Perhaps the problem is this messy house we’re subjecting you to. You’re always pulling the Swiffer out of the pantry or using the washcloth to wipe your high chair after dinner (instead of your face, of course). You spend hours walking around with raspberries smeared in your hair, but that high chair is spotless.

One night after you had gone to bed, your dad and I sat down to watch a movie, but we couldn’t find the TV remote. We both got up and started to check the usual spots — the TV cabinet and the couch cushions. Then we looked under the furniture, figuring you had hidden it. Ten minutes later, your dad unearthed it in the drawer of our coffee table. This is the same place you often hide the coasters. Oh, I’m sorry. Did I say “hide”? I meant “put away.” I share your neat-freak tendencies, and I’m pretty sure that between the two of us, your father is never again going to be able to find his possessions.

The one place you do get messy is outside. Every time I let Abe out the back door, you come barreling over and squeeze through. And you’ve learned that we wear shoes outside, so if I’m washing the dishes or doing some other boring chore, you will carry a shoe over to me and try to put it on my foot. Because if I’m wearing shoes, I clearly have to go outside. You get into the yard and walk in a few circles, picking up leaves and bits of grass, occasionally stuffing them in your mouth before I race over. Sometimes your hands get dirty, and then you hold them in front of you and shake them as though alien beings have become attached to your body. Ack! Dirt! You cannot go on living like this!

You seem to be walking a line between babyhood and childhood, sometimes needing to be held and sometimes desperate to explore on your own. I do have to keep you from eating bugs and leaping off of our stairs, but I’m trying to give you a little space to grow up, too. Because that part is just as important as keeping the bugs out of your mouth.

Love,

Mom

Dear Eleanor,

Yesterday you turned 14 months old. If you’re wondering why this is a day late, then perhaps you would like to talk about napping. I know I would. Where are your naps? They have gone missing. For months, you had slept every day from about 11 a.m. to 1 p.m. My day revolved around that nap — my time to shower and make lunch.

The past few weeks, you have continued to get cranky at this time. You become clumsy and bump into things, then drop to the floor to roll around and cry. You need that nap, but when I put you in your crib, you start to babble happily. I wait a while for you to sleep, but you don’t. I get you back up, and you’re happy for five minutes before the rolling on the floor begins anew. By the time you finally do fall asleep, sometimes two hours later, I’m the one rolling on the floor.

Your palate has also been giving us challenges. All of a sudden, a lot of things you used to like are getting flung to the floor. Always over the right side of your high-chair, where Abe is stationed. You also do this in restaurants, apparently not realizing that there is no dog. Yesterday you refused to eat pizza! Apples remain your one true passion, which is interesting because I craved them the whole time I was pregnant. You scream — I mean tears-running-down-your-face, bright-red SCREAM — when we take an apple core away from you.

The biggest news is the walking. In the past few weeks, you’ve gone from a few tentative steps between furniture to full-out wobbling everywhere. It’s a little scary because you can disappear very quickly, but it’s such a thrill to see you navigate the world upright.

We’ve taken you on several adventures this month — to a strawberry patch, the set of a Western movie and the JFK museum in Dallas — and everywhere we go people want to meet you. They wave at you and talk to you and help me with my groceries. You bring out such kindness and happiness in people. And almost all of them tell me to enjoy these fleeting moments. I hear this so often that I nearly want to cry at my inability to freeze time. If I could bottle up a little of this wobbly, babbling version of you and uncork the bottle in 20 years, I would.

Love,

Mom