More

Miles first word is more. All day long I hear him chirping more, more, more. More juice, more crackers, more play time with his momma. When he first began to say more, it sounded like "moe", or "more" with a very thick Brooklyn accent, the R sound almost completely absent, with more emphasis on the long O sound. Secretly I hoped he was trying to say Mom, but it soon became apparent that it was only More.

I would like to say that he has gone on to add an abundance of words to his vocabularly, but unfortunately he has not. It is still just more. More. More. More. He does sign it now as well as say it, so I suppose we are making progress.

I don't think Miles really needs anymore words. "More" seems to be a multi-functional word. He will hand me a book and say "more". I know he wants to be read to. He brings me a bottle and emphatically states "more". I know he wants milk. When he wants to be held, he lifts his arms up and utters a sweet "more". I know I should be working with him and encouraging him to use more words, but we seem to communicate very well, Miles and I and our friend "More".


My baby Miles, more is a great word. I think about it a lot and how I wish I could adequately convey to you just how much "more" my life is blessed because of you; how I wish for "more" moments of your babyhood, how I find it hard to accomplish much "more" than simply enjoying being with you.


I love you more. More than chocolate chip cookies and ice cold Diet Coke. More than sleeping in on Sunday morning. More than merry go rounds and fields full of bright red tulips. More than fresh cut strawberries and presents under the Christmas tree. More than slow rambling walks down country lanes and Sunday afternoon bike rides. More than the birds of summer and breezy autumn days. More than drops of warm spring rain and rainbows in a light blue sky. More than wrapped up surprises and my favorite movies. More than quiet secluded cul de sacs and summer sunsets. More than morning dew, more than dance and music and books of ABC. More than boats and ships and sails, more than orange blossoms in the air, more than sugar cookies and cream puffs set out on a plate. More than letters from old friends, more than soft grass underfoot and big pink balloons. More than soft feather pillows, and hand-sewn patchwork quilts. More than stars and clouds and deep-filled soft old sofas. More than secret whisperings from daddy, more than long cool evenings, more than garden swings and daffodils. More than the buzzing of honey bees and rows of summer corn. More than sand between my toes, more than slipping between cool white sheets, more than reading in the tub, more than most things, more, more....just more.