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Spawn of Griffith | Dear Jack ... (volume nine)

Dear Jack ... (volume nine)

Friday January 26, 2007 | by Dalia Griffith | 0 comments

You’re nearly a year old—only a few weeks before the big day—and it’s almost impossible to believe that you were once a sleepy little newborn with not much to say. Because these days, it’s all about doing you’re own thing. Which includes exploring—and tasting, of course—every inch of every thing and place you can find.

You’re quite the little daredevil, too, thanks in part to your Daddy’s habit of throwing you into the air (the higher, the better). You also love being tossed into the easy chair, climbing stairs, diving head first off said stairs, tackling the dogs, and eating grandma’s lunch. You’re still a little weary of strangers, but so am I and I’m 31 years old. (Even though your father thinks I’m still in my late twenties.)

Needless to say, my during-the-week bedtime is obscenely early, but any Mom who spends her days chasing an active toddler-in-training knows that sleep is a beautiful—and crucial—luxury.

Your Dad and I are so proud of the independent, loving little boy we’ve raised, and I still get misty-eyed every time you stop what you’re doing and race across the room to give me a kiss. And while you love to entertain yourself, more than anything, you want to be part of the action. And we’re (almost) always happy to let you join the party.