Dear Mini-me,

you are 22 months old already (plus a few days, but well). Your chunky baby body has stretched into a chubby toddler shape. Your head has rapidly grown over the edge of the table, and now you see, and you reach. From uncertain yesses and nos, you’ve come to the point to give precise orders. From “more” to “even more” to “even more, mama!”, it was a twinkle. You’ve discovered ownership of toys (oh my) but still share your snacks with friends and strangers. You’ve learned to properly kiss and how to dose your bombastic affection. You love watching babies being fed. Your favourite things are diggers, in all colors, all brands, and all shapes. When we go outside, you direct me to the construction site near by, to watch in awe and to cheer on the digging. You give high five to construction workers and you are so excited, that you jump up and down. Same thing for any U-Bahn passing by.

You are slowly starting to name things properly, and you clap for us, once we undertstand. Your mimics are crazy. You have more grimaces in store than I knew existed. From the culinary pro you were when you were younger, you’ve sadly become a much more picky eater. Your favourite things to eat are rice and stinky cheese. Your favourite meal is paneer curry from the Indian delivery service. Anything dairy makes you happy, while all the veggies I cook for you stay untouched.

You are so proud of your accomplishments. Only a few millimeters to grow, and your (short) legs will be long enough to reach ground on your balance bike. You swing by yourself and you can climb up anywhere. You are so brave that you get yourself into accidents all the time. Your knees and head are always bruised, your teeth have gotten a few hits already and you almost lost one when you crashed into my bike. Please be a tiny bit more carefull, will you?

I ♥ you so.

Photo: Carolin Weinkopf