After going with a photo edition for Kate's 18 month newsletter, I found myself writing her a letter in my head anyway, so I am caving in to the voices in my mind and calling a do-over.

Dear Kate,

I hereby declare Month 18 of your life to be "The Month of No." It's not exactly that you learned to say no for the first time this month. You first said that word when we were staying with your grandparents in San Antonio over Christmas and you saw your Aunt Dinah run out into the yard yelling "No no no!" to stop her one-year-old Labrador from digging a hole. You did seem to recognize immediately that no is a pretty powerful word ... you spent the rest of the trip shaking your finger at poor Kemah the dog and admonishing her for crimes she had yet to commit. "Nonono!" you'd tell her, and she'd duck her head. When we came home, you used your new skill on dogs in our neighborhood. Apparently, you think "Shh! Nonono!" is what you are supposed to say to dogs, and I am not correcting you, since that is basically what I think most dogs need to be told most of the time. Perhaps I am overly sensitive about this issue due to a certain dog in close proximity to our home who still barks frantically at us any time we're in our own yard. THREE YEARS after we moved in. But I digress.

This month, you suddenly grasped that no is also a word you can use in your personal interactions. I recently bought a book about child development between the first and second year of life, and here is what this book has to say about your age:

"The 18-month old defends and strengthens his or her sense of self by opposing others. No is the favorite word."

Ha. Hahahahaha. Ha. They are not even kidding. I think in your mind, No might actually be your name at this point. Obviously, I knew the day would come when you would learn this word, but the most surprising thing to me about it is how many different ways you say it depending on the situation. There's the short and business-like no, which you use when I ask you if you want a banana. No, definitely not a banana. Next question. There is your funny no, which you use when we ask if you will give us a kiss or do some other thing that you actually like to do. You always laugh after you say no in that context, to show that you are teasing. Then there's whiny no, which you use when I'm making you do something you really hate, such as have your diaper changed, or wear clothing to go outside, both of which activities you are strenuously opposing these days. "Noooooo! Nooooo!"

My personal favorite is the no where you say another favorite word, "Um" and then kind of pause as if you're really considering the question, but gosh darn it, you just have to turn me down this time. "Uuuuuuummmmmm, no," you say regretfully, like you're trying to let a telemarketer down easy. I am fairly confident you learned to say "Umm" from me. I never knew I said that so much in conversation until you started saying it. My college speech teacher would not be impressed.

Although your ability to protest things you don't like is definitely up this month, you're also such an engaging little person that most of the time with you is really fun. You have figured out that trash goes in the trash can, and you have declared yourself the official keeper of the garbage in the kitchen. If I dare to dispose of something without letting you be the one to put it in the trash and close the lid, there is a pretty good chance that the first time I turn my back, you'll be fishing around in there so you can take the item out and throw it away properly. Apparently, I am doing it all wrong.

You play pretend now, especially pretend cooking. Your Gam got you a play cooking set for Christmas, and one of your favorite things to do right now is to stir imaginary dishes with your little spoons, pausing every once in a while to blow on them, because everything you cook is very hot. When you are really into it, you want to go in the pantry and drag out a few cans of soup or vegetables and pretend that you are using those foods for your recipe. The best part of the whole game is that when you are done cooking, you offer us a taste with your spoon, and sometimes bring us cups and pour us imaginary beverages to enjoy with our meal.

You love to talk on the phone, and it doesn't matter to you if there is anyone on the other end or not. We're taking advantage of this interest and having you call your grandparents a lot, and when you're in the right mood, you really tell them some stuff. No one is quite sure what you're telling them, because for the most part it still sounds like gibberish when you talk, but you are so animated that it doesn't matter. You are telling a story, and it is a really interesting story. You wave your hands and laugh, and even when you aren't actually talking to someone, you still pause as if you're listening to another person on the line, and say "Mmm-hmmm? Mmmm-hmmm?" Many of these conversations take place while you walk around the house holding your purse and wearing your dress-up pearls and sunglasses. If this is an impression of me, then you clearly have me confused with someone much, much more glamorous. Zsa Zsa Gabor, perhaps.

The best thing about you this month is how much you anticipate your daddy coming home. It is the absolute highlight of your day and his, for that matter. As soon as you wake up from your nap, you start talking about Daddy. "Daddy? Daddy?" you say over and over, and I tell you that he'll be home soon. We have this conversation approximately 25 times over the course of the next hour or so. As soon as you hear the garage door open, you start running so that you can come around the corner at just the right moment to squeal in delight when Dan opens the door. You actually do a little dance you are so happy to see him. We were talking about this one night and I told Dan that I felt kind of envious of him for getting such a rock star reception. I'm home with you all the time, so my presence does not inspire such hysteria in you. Then the next day I took you to the Mom's Morning Out program that some very gracious ladies in our church host. Usually, you cry when I leave you because you don't want me to go, then cry when I come and get you because you are having so much fun you don't want to go home. But this time when I came back to pick you up, you saw me and squealed and came running. You jumped up in my arms and let me hug and kiss you. It was awesome. I felt so special. You then immediately started demanding milk and crackers and cheese and all the other things you apparently think I carry around in my pockets at all times. But it was still a sweet moment. Thanks for that.

I love you,
Mommy