Dear Love Bug

Dear Love Bug,

I’d nearly given up on the blogging. Between wearing myself out at work and keeping up with you at home, I just haven’t had the energy left to pour my heart into writing intensive blog posts about your life. And then so much time passes that I feel overwhelmed at trying to catch up on what I’ve neglected to write about. 

But today on my way home, listening to NPR (my latest obsession in my new activist lifestyle), I listened to a story about the parents of an almost 3-year-old who chronicle her life by writing her regular emails. “I can do that!” I thought. After all, I write hundreds of emails a day. What’s one more?

So I’ve resolved to send you off a quick email, in the form of a blog post, as often as possible. I’d love to say daily, but I don’t want to set myself up for failure. All of this is so I don’t forget the details that are the gorgeous golden threads in the humdrum fabric of our daily lives. 

This evening, Passover 2017 got under way, and we hosted Seder here. By hosted, I mean we sat at our own dining room table and ate the food that Nonna spent all day preparing. (We are spoiled.)

Last year, you fell asleep mere minutes into the Seder. We weren’t sure if it was the wine in the charoset (oops!) or sheer boredom, but it was so sweet, you slumped over in your high chair, still wearing the yarmulke that we’d propped on your head. This year, you were a holy terror, which is pretty par for the course. 

BUT what I want to remember is this: You passed up the carrot soufflé (everyone’s favorite) for–wait for it–gefilte fish and hard-boiled egg, which you double-fisted. And you insisted that we do a toast with our wine glasses and your sippy cup. We opted for “L’chaim,” and you repeated, “Look who I am!” Haha!

You also had your first taste of Gatorade (a poor substitute for wine), which you dripped onto your plate saying “plague plague plague.” 

You’re so bad but you’re so cute. 

Love you like crazy, kiddo. 

Mamma

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