Year 1.25

Days turn to weeks. Weeks to months. Months to ... well ... let's not get ahead of ourselves.

Claire turned 15 moons this week. Mom marked the occasion by taking her to the pediatrican's office for a pre-scheduled oil and lube. She weighed in at 22 pounds, 14 ounces. About average. But look out! She's a tall one. 32.5 inches, to be exact. That puts her in the 90 percentile for her age. Since month 12, she's grown 2.5 inches. She keeps that up and she'll be towering over her father, in more ways than just smarts.

The doctor said Claire seemed in great health, current cold notwithstanding (This cold I caught, forcing me to call in sick Tuesday for the first time in seven years. Not fun.). Claire apparently impressed the pediatrician by thumbing through books and magazines the exam room and lobby. I'm more impressed by Claire's personality. It's seemingly well rounded. Much more so than either of her parents.

She's especially social for her age, greeting strangers on the street and going up to other kids with usually only a moment's hesitation. Yet she's also increasingly able to entertain herself. She can become engrossed in a task like stacking blocks or prying lids off containers. And she can disappear quietly into the next room while we're making dinner and keep herself busy with a toy for 10 minutes at a time. This is an improvement, believe me. A welcomed one, too.

She also LOVES horsing around. She's a little gymnast in the making. She asks me repeatedly to hold and swing her upside down by her feet until my arms literally tire and ache beyond the point of being safe. She tugs at my finger each morning until I drag her around the house at a brisk trot. We circle through the hallway, the kitchen and the dinning room and back again, Claire giggling as we speed up. Sometimes she deliberately picks her feet off the floor as we go around a corner so she can slide on her side across the smooth marmoleum floor. She plays peek-a-boo at the drop of the hat and relishes chasing me from room to room as if it were a new game each time.

She's drawn to noisy machines. Her head swivels round every time I grind coffee. She runs to my side so I can hoist her to help press the button. She watched with fascination this week as a cement truck poured concrete in our neighborhood and as a tow truck hooked up a car. We might have to enroll her in a toddler shop class.

She likes to dance; has since she could crawl. She asks to be picked up in my arms and squeels when I bounce her around to a song Lisa taught us: "Marching, marching. Hop-hop-hop. Running, running, running. Now we stop!"

"Mmmmor" she says when we finish, putting her hands together in sign language for "more." Then we have to sing and hop all over again. Usually four or five times.

She's as affectionate as any toddler I've met. She bends down most mornings to kiss the cat and dog. She frequently kisses objects she fancies -- a plastic fish, her play doll. She'll stop and kiss me or mom when we're in the middle of an activity she enjoys. It's almost as if she consciously thinks, "I appreciate this, and I recognize that you're taking time to do this with me, so I'm going to thank you with a kiss." At least, that's what I tell myself.

Lately she's begun cooing at pictures of babies she sees on TV or the computer. She mimicked her mom's "Awwwws" earlier this week as they sat together and viewed pictures of our friends' newborn girl. "Baaaay - Beee," she said, pointing at the photos. "Bwaayy - Beee."

She's trying to say many other words, so much so that we're archiving our own Claire dictionary. There's "Ap" (Apple), "Da Da" (Dad), "Ma Ma" (Mom), "Mmmmor" (More), "Ha" (Hot), "Wah" (Water), "Jyu" (Juice, or her friend, Jude), "Ish" (Fish), "Eesh" (Cheese), "Mooou" (Moon), "Shh (Shoe or Hush) and "Boo" (Book). And, of course, there's "Uh-Huh" (Yes). Thankfully, she's not yet mastered the word "no," though everyone tells us that's coming. She makes sounds for elephants, horses, ducks and whales (for that, she puffs air through her lips). She can shake her head wildly, but she's really just playing around. At least, she's smiling as she does it, so I think it's all for play. For now.

She's very alert. She's focused in the morning enough to read several books in one sitting but distracted enough at night to give up after two or three pages. She still needs to be rocked or nursed to sleep. She fights naps like a politican dodging ethics charges. She wakes most nights around 2 or 3 a.m. to nurse, though twice this week she's slept until 5 or 6. We hope more than just the cold is behind that breakthrough.

She looks forward to her baths. She seems to enjoy car rides now that her seat faces forward. She asks for more when a loud bus or truck passes by. She nevers tires of songs like "The wheels on the bus go round and round." She implores us to sing it several times.

She has bad habits; to wit, biting us and hiting the pets. We think she hits mostly when she's frustrated and seeking our attention. We're dealing with it by either ignoring it or directing her strikes elsewhere. Or losing it entirely and yelling "KNOCK IT OFF OR IT'S YOUR TEDDY'S HEAD!!!!"

I admire Sarah for continuing to nurse Claire. Each feeding is a struggle. Claire kicks and switches from one breast to the next and back without warning. But the pediatrician praised her this week for it. The benefits, she said, are worth it.

So that about summarizes life with a 15-month-old. Maybe it's not different than life with any other halfpint. In some ways, I can't believe she's been around that long. In other ways, I can. She's a life-changing, go-gettin' toddler-in-the-making. I can no longer fathom life without her.