Dear Kate,

You are sixteen months old today. As I am writing this letter, you are walking around in the living room saying "Ba-Ba! Ba-Ba!" over and over again in a sing-song way. The casual observer might think that this is just a random sound you are making, but I know that what you are really doing is saying "baby." You got a baby doll for Christmas from Gam, and you certainly love it, so maybe if I didn't know better, I would think you were just talking about your doll. But I do know better, so I know that what you are really doing is chanting your shorthand name for "Baby Signing Time," the videos we've used to teach you signing. This mantra of yours is not being trotted out for no reason. You want to watch a "Baba" video ... right now. The problem is that you've already watched one today, and generally I try to hold you to one a day. And so with my heightened perceptive abilities, I can now predict what is about to happen: The Baba chant is going to get louder and more persistent. Then you are going to come in here and stand next to my chair and continue your pleas. And finally, when I tell you no, we're not watching any more Signing Time today, you're going to throw yourself on the ground and flail around in an extremely tragic manner while screaming about how life is unfair and I am a terrible mommy. Not in those words, obviously, but that is what your general tone suggests.

I bring this up to highlight a development that I view as mostly positive -- namely, the fact that you have gotten much better in the last two months at communicating your needs and wants. One of the most stressful things to me about the little tiny baby stage was that all crying sounded the same to me, and until you got old enough to point or gesture or in some way help me narrow down the reasons you might be crying, I felt like I was constantly engaging in a big guessing game. Now we have no such problem. Your signing is really coming along. You're actually making me look kind of stupid at this point. One day recently I fed you some slivers of apple and you reached up and did this circular motion on your cheek. I realized you were probably doing a sign, but I admit that I had to go scan through one of the DVDs before I was sure.

You're also talking more. You can say mama, daddy, cracker, cheese, woof-woof (your word for dog), bird, car, banana, water and, my personal favorite, hi. You say it in this very perky way, like you haven't seen the person you're greeting in years and you are overcome with joy. "Hi!" You say it this way to total strangers, which got you a lot of attention in the airports last month when we traveled. When you decide the conversation is over, or you just get tired of saying "Hi," you say "Bye bye!" and sometimes blow kisses. It is all unbearably cute, and it really is helpful, too, because most of the time, I can ascertain fairly quickly what you are talking about, and then move on.

What I am not loving so much about your new-found ability to express yourself is the tantrum-throwing. I am sure veteran mamas will laugh at me, but somehow I thought this was a two-year-old behavior, so it sort of shocked me when one day while we were in San Antonio I told you no about something and you laid your 15-month-old self down on the floor and started flopping around while wailing and kicking your legs. You did it with such confidence that it was almost like you'd seen it before, like maybe when your dad and I have minor disagreements, one of us hits the ground and start screaming until we get our way, which I assure you does not happen. Most of the time. On the one hand, it is kind of funny in an absurd way, because I think this is your nuclear option, and you think that you are really punishing me when you do that. On the other hand, it is So. Not. Funny. Now that we're no longer traveling, we're starting to work on teaching you that it's not acceptable behavior. I'm sure any minute now I'll be able to report your transformation to perfect ladylike comportment. Or not.

Overall, the last two months seem to have been about you making the transition from being a baby to being a toddler. You even look different. Your hair is getting longer. Actually, it's just getting longer in the back, which is the nice way to say that you are getting a mullet. But a cute mullet! You insist on learning how to do new things, and get very upset if we think you are struggling with something and just do it for you. You don't want it to be quick. You want to learn how to do it no matter how long it takes you. It's pretty impressive, really, the persistence it takes to learn how to navigate the world. Good work. You even know how to ring doorbells, thanks to Aunt Audrey and Uncle Aaron.

You can run now, which makes for some great evening chases around the living room with your daddy. You're wearing out the second pair of shoes we got for you before Christmas, and when we came back from our holiday travels, suddenly there were all these new shelves and surfaces you could reach, which I guess means you've gotten taller. I think one reason I've been writing you letters that cover two months at a time lately is because one month seems to pass in seconds, you're changing so fast. Looking through pictures we've taken these last eight weeks, it's like I can see you becoming such a big kid right before my eyes. At least, you think you are. In your opinion, you should have, at minimum, a cell phone as cool as Aunt Dinah's.

But enough about you. Remember those tantrums I was mentioning at the start of this letter? Here's the truth about those: I'm not proud of how frustrated this all makes me some days. I am finding myself having to take a deep breath every once in a while to try to regain some patience before I set about dealing with whatever meltdown you are having at the moment. Yesterday, it even occurred to me that teaching you how to take a deep breath might do us both a world of good. So I showed you how to do it, and weirdly enough, you caught right on! I'm not sure you really understand the point of the whole exercise, since you generally go right back to screaming after you let out the big "aaaaah" at the end of your deep cleansing breath. Maybe if I enroll you in baby yoga you will chill out. It's probably also true, as your daddy keeps telling me, that some of this can be chalked up to the fact that we traveled for more than two weeks this month, during which time you broke through four molars (so gross!), caught a nasty cold (even grosser!), and didn't sleep all that well. So to be fair to you, my perception is probably a bit skewed as of this moment, and things are probably going to improve now that we are home and you are recovering from all of that. In the meantime, the whole thing is revealing my own inner tantrum-throwing toddler who just wants her way. Temporary or not, I think you and I have hit a stage in our relationship where we're going to have to exercise some patience and grace toward one another. Since I am the adult, and I love you, I'll go first. Since you are the baby, and you love me too, I'm sure I'll be rewarded with lots of big, slobbery kisses, which make up for a lot on the rough days. Keep those coming, OK?

I love you,

Mommy