Dear Stelly-belle,

We need to have a little chat about something. It has been something that has been on my mind for quite some time now, and with your 18 month birthday quickly approaching, the time has come for me to make yet another decision that will undoubtedly ruin your life forever. [Don’t worry, it won’t be the last.]

It’s about your bottle. It kind of has to go.

Change that. It *really* has to go.

I know you love it. I know it has brought you 17 fun-filled months of joy and pleasure. I know that when you squeal and do that little dance every time you see it you are showing me just how * much* you love it. I know that if it wasn’t for the fact that I– your “first one’s free, kid” pusher — got you hooked on it in the first place by being one of those horrific mothers who didn’t breasfeed you, we would never be in this situation in the first place. Believe me, I know you will blame me, and me alone for the turmoil that is soon to follow. Should Dad get caught in the crossfire of this evil missive I am about to carry out, please don’t blame him entirely — he is acting on strict orders from me. Although I feel compelled to mention that, based on a long and involved conversation last night while laying in bed, he indicated that he is equally concerned about the myriad of negative issues that will arise should we not address this issue tout suite:

Me: “So, we really need to be *done* with this whole bottle thing.”

Your dad: “Yeah.”

So there you have it. Aside from your vote, we have complete household consensus.

I am only telling you this so you won’t be surprised when we launch Phase I of ‘Operation Bye-Bye Ba-Ba’. Being that you only still really have a bottle when sleep is involved it is important that we don’t throw the entire household into some sort of sleepless tailspin — which is where the two-pronged approach comes in. I know it will seem wierd to you to find [ gasp!] water in your bottle, as opposed to milk, but believe me, it is for your own good. Believe me, honey, your Dad and Uncle Thad may have convinced you that Billy Bob teeth are one of the coolest inventions of late, but in real life, they won’t do much for your social life.

Phase two will most definitely be where the true battle of wills begins. Believe me when I tell you this my dear, sweet Stella: I am taking it away because I *love* you. For you. For all of us. For the betterment of society. I can’t tell you exactly when this phase will commence, but I will tell you this:

the ba ba is going bye bye.

Love,
Mama

I keep trying to compile some sort of vocab list enumerating all the new words Stella is picking up and using on a regular basis. For some reason, however, I have not been able to really get the ball rolling. Then, all of a sudden it hit me. Recouningt what she is saying is only half of it. I mean come on, after the first few words it starts getting a little rediculous to maintain an ever growing vocabulary list of each and every new word. When does it stop? Flashforward 13 years: “Oh, honey look she just used “paradoxically” in a sentence for the first time — quick! get the list!” The reality, I have realized is that the real humor is in how she says it.

The bizzare emphasis on the ‘H’ in white; the way she says ‘yeah’ with a climbing pitch that then drops off quickly at the end; the way she drops the second syllable off words like ‘open’ and ‘blueberry’ — shortening them to ‘oap’ and ‘boooo’; the way she can mutilate a word and look at you like you are crazy for not understanding what she is saying: “ohhhh, I get it! Not oaaaaam, you mean worm!” [She is fascinated by them, by the way.]; the way she bellows ‘beeeeee’ while wiping her hand across her chest (we still haven’t managed to get her to actually say ‘thank you’ yet — she’ll only sign it).

And to think, in no time at all ‘yerow’ will be a crystal clear ‘yellow,’ and ‘noona’ will be a perfectly articulated ‘noodle’ and yes, for all of you who are wondering, we are still working alligator.