Dear Reese,
We go out to the swing at the cottage this evening — it has more range than the creaky one outside our place — and we make up a new game where I push you forward and then run after you... and then run away from you as you swing back towards me.
You laugh so hard every time. You have the best laugh. I’m embarrassed by how quickly I get out of breath, so then I swing beside you and we have a moment of quiet together, listening to the wind through the trees.
Your Aunt Jenn is here with her mom for dinner tonight, and she builds you block towers on the floor of the sunroom. You teach her the game — “Timber!” — where you knock them down as fast as she builds.
You’re very good at it.
Some day you’ll build those towers yourself. Maybe even someday soon. Tomorrow you are eleven months old.
Love,
Mama