Location: Bucericas, Mexico
Nothing delights the locals more than telling them that our blue eyed, gerber baby is Mexican. And she is… since she was born here she holds both US and Mexican citizenship. Lucky girl. What will be even more amazing to me is seeing her grow up and speak fluent, native Spanish and English.
Already, one week into Kindergarten, Cole’s vocabulary is growing by leaps and bounds. He comes home telling me about the moon and the sun, or singing “Feliz Cumpleaños” at Francesca’s birthday party. I ask him about his day, in Spanish, and he seems to understand me so much better. His pronounciation has improved. I’m shocked.
Stella must be trying to keep up because last week she said “mama” then exploded into a series of babbling that hasn’t stopped since. It’s been bababababa and mamama, and raspberries every day since. Cole was a late talker, almost completely silent until after he was one year old. Stella talking at this age is developmentally normal, but it feels like magic. She’s sitting by herself now, rolling over, threatening to walk. She’s started solids two weeks ago and army crawled across the bed last week.
Where have my babies gone?
Soon she will be walking and I won’t be able to hold her down long enough to eat those chubby cheeks — so I’m getting it all in now. While Cole is running around the house in his Hulk mask and Hulk hands, I’m gobbling her up, drinking in that sweet baby goodness before it’s too late.