"Look Mommy! CONTRAIL!" "Contrails come from AIRplanes. Hannah Looooooooooove airplaines." The sky is the limit for your vocabulary, Hannah. Just the other day, you said to yourself, in the mirror, very deliberately, "Concentrate." Mom looked at me and we both raised our eyebrows and shook our heads, acknowledging it wasn't either of us that taught you that word. "Hannah, who told you to concentrate?" Mom asked. "CONNNNcentrate, Mommy. Elmo CONNNNcentrate. Elmo thinking." Every day, there are many little moments of contrails and concentrate for us to behold. Earlier this afternoon, you sang the entire alphabet song with me, and you also counted to twenty nine (thirty is still a stumper). When I walk in the door in the afternoons, I love being greeted with "DADDY's HOME! Daddy WORKing." It is great to be able to have conversations with you now. I know they are going to get better and better. "Pleased to meet you," you said to Mom just now, right before bed, catching her off guard. She laughed and said, "Yes Hannah, I am pleased to meet you too!" Have sweet dreams of contrails, Hannah. Good night.
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