The last picture as a two year-old:
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Dear Jack,
Today you are 35 months old. We're rounding the corner on three! Some things have changed over the last month. Big things. You use the potty now, all the time. I was getting frustrated with your pace, but as most parents told me, you'd do it when you were ready. You were ready about a week and a half ago and we haven't looked back since. No more diapers? Huzzah!
This milestone in your development has coincided with one that I haven't greeted with quite as much enthusiasm. You've given up naps. Cue a dramatic curtain closing, a heavy sigh, a single tear rolling down my cheek. Your naps were my time to breathe, even if those breaths were taken as I washed dishes, folded clothes, or chopped veggies for dinner. So, we roll with it. I've instituted quiet time, and so far you're complying. We sit outside, water the plants, and I read while you play. This is a great time of the day, actually. It's the hours between 3 and 6 that make me long for your naps. You get very mean! One of your favorite things to tell me is that you're going to throw me in the trash. I know you could still use a rest during the day, but bedtime is coming earlier and easier now, so I'll take the good with the bad. You've been sleeping a longer stretch, too, waking later and happier.
You are eating so much lately that I have to think a big growth spurt is on the way. As you fell asleep tonight you tossed and turned. When I asked you what was the matter, you told me your legs hurt. Your dad recalls intense growing pains from childhood and, well, he's a big friendly giant.
Over the past few months, you've watched very little television. It's been easy for me with these beautiful days and work to do in our yard to avoid the screen. Only good things have come with this small change. You play independently, with little need of prompting or reassurance from me. You do, of course, still want someone to play with and I gladly oblige. You woke up one morning as Danger Frog! I asked if you wanted muffins. "No, flies." Instead, you told me that I was not a danger frog but a nice frog, and fed me pollen, rice, and jelly. It's fun to play along with you and watch as your mind assimilates real information into your fantasy world.
I overheard you in your room shouting, "Stop! Stop! Octagon!"
You asked me a very pointed and specific question about your anatomy one day in the car. I won't share it here, but I may use it to embarrass you in a few years when I seem to do only that. Suffice it to say that I should have delegated that discussion to daddy. Your curiosity never ceases, and neither do your questions.
When we're snuggling before bed, all three of us, Daddy likes to say that we've made a Jack sandwich. When you awoke from one of your last, precious naps recently you asked in a drowsy voice, "Where's the other part of the sandwich?" It took me a moment to understand that you weren't talking about lunch.
We walked up the street tonight after dinner, just the two of us, as Daddy mowed the lawn. You looked up at me and said, "I like the way you are." I had to ask you to repeat yourself, and you did. I think I'm like most other moms in feeling a strangling self-doubt at times. In this one quiet moment, you reassured me. Thank you for that, sweet son.
I like the way you are, too.
Love,
Mama
Today you are 35 months old. We're rounding the corner on three! Some things have changed over the last month. Big things. You use the potty now, all the time. I was getting frustrated with your pace, but as most parents told me, you'd do it when you were ready. You were ready about a week and a half ago and we haven't looked back since. No more diapers? Huzzah!
This milestone in your development has coincided with one that I haven't greeted with quite as much enthusiasm. You've given up naps. Cue a dramatic curtain closing, a heavy sigh, a single tear rolling down my cheek. Your naps were my time to breathe, even if those breaths were taken as I washed dishes, folded clothes, or chopped veggies for dinner. So, we roll with it. I've instituted quiet time, and so far you're complying. We sit outside, water the plants, and I read while you play. This is a great time of the day, actually. It's the hours between 3 and 6 that make me long for your naps. You get very mean! One of your favorite things to tell me is that you're going to throw me in the trash. I know you could still use a rest during the day, but bedtime is coming earlier and easier now, so I'll take the good with the bad. You've been sleeping a longer stretch, too, waking later and happier.
You are eating so much lately that I have to think a big growth spurt is on the way. As you fell asleep tonight you tossed and turned. When I asked you what was the matter, you told me your legs hurt. Your dad recalls intense growing pains from childhood and, well, he's a big friendly giant.
Over the past few months, you've watched very little television. It's been easy for me with these beautiful days and work to do in our yard to avoid the screen. Only good things have come with this small change. You play independently, with little need of prompting or reassurance from me. You do, of course, still want someone to play with and I gladly oblige. You woke up one morning as Danger Frog! I asked if you wanted muffins. "No, flies." Instead, you told me that I was not a danger frog but a nice frog, and fed me pollen, rice, and jelly. It's fun to play along with you and watch as your mind assimilates real information into your fantasy world.
I overheard you in your room shouting, "Stop! Stop! Octagon!"
You asked me a very pointed and specific question about your anatomy one day in the car. I won't share it here, but I may use it to embarrass you in a few years when I seem to do only that. Suffice it to say that I should have delegated that discussion to daddy. Your curiosity never ceases, and neither do your questions.
When we're snuggling before bed, all three of us, Daddy likes to say that we've made a Jack sandwich. When you awoke from one of your last, precious naps recently you asked in a drowsy voice, "Where's the other part of the sandwich?" It took me a moment to understand that you weren't talking about lunch.
We walked up the street tonight after dinner, just the two of us, as Daddy mowed the lawn. You looked up at me and said, "I like the way you are." I had to ask you to repeat yourself, and you did. I think I'm like most other moms in feeling a strangling self-doubt at times. In this one quiet moment, you reassured me. Thank you for that, sweet son.
I like the way you are, too.
Love,
Mama
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Dear Jack,
Today you are 34 months old. A caretaker has emerged over the last month, and even though you have been quite mean at times, you seem more concerned than ever about how we are doing. You ask me if I'm happy all the time. I've been sick with a sinus infection, and a few nights ago as we were reading before bed, you popped up and said, "I know what will make you feel better! Stay RIGHT here! I will get you a cup and a wittle bit of water!" And you did. You went to the kitchen and got a cup from your cabinet, climbed onto the bathroom counter, and poured me a cup of water. I don't think you spilled a drop. The words of Maria Montesorri have echoed in my mind this month: "Never help a child with a task at which he feels he can succeed." I'm not sure that I agree totally, but I have made an effort this month not to do things for you in the interest of time or efficiency, and I have been surprised and delighted to see that you really can do so much. You are so determined, but you will ask for help if you can't quite get something done. I love that you try and try again. I made up a little rhyme for when you get frustrated: If you have a problem, don't freak out. Think of a solution and work it out! We repeat that sometimes when your temper flares over a puzzle piece that won't fit, or a toy is just out of your reach.
Since the last letter, you've become OBSESSED with superheroes. Between the cape I made you, your Superman PJs, and a few short youtube videos (thanks, Daddy), you now ask all day long about your favorite four characters.
"Mommy? Is Superman good or bad?"
"Mommy? What does Hulk's song sound like?"
"Mommy? Can Hulk fly?"
"Mommy? What does Batman say?"
"Mommy? Why is Darth Vader bad?"
There are no answers that satisfy your curiosity, or even preclude your repetition of these questions and their variations. I don't plan on showing you these cartoons or movies any time soon, but you seem satisfied with what you imagine these characters to be. You found the comic section at the library and insisted that we take home a Superman book. After a quick, desperate scan I found "Superman in the 40s." Phew! You liked thumbing through it but lost interest pretty quickly. Your obsession with good and evil is really interesting to me, and I feel like comics can be a good direction when you're older.
One of your favorite things to say is pretty smart aleck-y. If Daddy or I ask you "What does that mean?" you invariably say, "That means you," with a smirk. I'm not sure where it came from, but it's pretty cute.
Today you went to the playground with Gram and found a Pez dispenser with the Green Lantern on top (enter a fifth obsession). You held it high like a torch and said "I'm the Statue of Delivery!" You slay me.
It just so happens that we've checked out a lot of books with your name in the title. Jack seems to be a pretty popular title character in children's books. Like the Jacks in your books, you're clever, helpful, imaginative, daring, and brave. I'm really proud of you, all the time. I'm really amazed by you, daily. I feel really grateful to be your mom, always.
Today you are 34 months old. A caretaker has emerged over the last month, and even though you have been quite mean at times, you seem more concerned than ever about how we are doing. You ask me if I'm happy all the time. I've been sick with a sinus infection, and a few nights ago as we were reading before bed, you popped up and said, "I know what will make you feel better! Stay RIGHT here! I will get you a cup and a wittle bit of water!" And you did. You went to the kitchen and got a cup from your cabinet, climbed onto the bathroom counter, and poured me a cup of water. I don't think you spilled a drop. The words of Maria Montesorri have echoed in my mind this month: "Never help a child with a task at which he feels he can succeed." I'm not sure that I agree totally, but I have made an effort this month not to do things for you in the interest of time or efficiency, and I have been surprised and delighted to see that you really can do so much. You are so determined, but you will ask for help if you can't quite get something done. I love that you try and try again. I made up a little rhyme for when you get frustrated: If you have a problem, don't freak out. Think of a solution and work it out! We repeat that sometimes when your temper flares over a puzzle piece that won't fit, or a toy is just out of your reach.
Since the last letter, you've become OBSESSED with superheroes. Between the cape I made you, your Superman PJs, and a few short youtube videos (thanks, Daddy), you now ask all day long about your favorite four characters.
"Mommy? Is Superman good or bad?"
"Mommy? What does Hulk's song sound like?"
"Mommy? Can Hulk fly?"
"Mommy? What does Batman say?"
"Mommy? Why is Darth Vader bad?"
There are no answers that satisfy your curiosity, or even preclude your repetition of these questions and their variations. I don't plan on showing you these cartoons or movies any time soon, but you seem satisfied with what you imagine these characters to be. You found the comic section at the library and insisted that we take home a Superman book. After a quick, desperate scan I found "Superman in the 40s." Phew! You liked thumbing through it but lost interest pretty quickly. Your obsession with good and evil is really interesting to me, and I feel like comics can be a good direction when you're older.
One of your favorite things to say is pretty smart aleck-y. If Daddy or I ask you "What does that mean?" you invariably say, "That means you," with a smirk. I'm not sure where it came from, but it's pretty cute.
Today you went to the playground with Gram and found a Pez dispenser with the Green Lantern on top (enter a fifth obsession). You held it high like a torch and said "I'm the Statue of Delivery!" You slay me.
It just so happens that we've checked out a lot of books with your name in the title. Jack seems to be a pretty popular title character in children's books. Like the Jacks in your books, you're clever, helpful, imaginative, daring, and brave. I'm really proud of you, all the time. I'm really amazed by you, daily. I feel really grateful to be your mom, always.
Love,
Mama
P.S. We had your cousin Kathleen with us for Easter weekend. You two play remarkably well together. She's a sweet, beautiful girl with a fantastic smile. You translated for her and shared with her. She admonished you to "Push! Push!" on the swing and you hopped right to it. I'm so glad you two get to grow up near each other and I look forward to seeing you grow and change together.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Dear Jack,
You're 33 months now. I'm later than ever on your letter, but like so many other things these days, I just have to let it go. Last month I was so frustrated on the 10th that I couldn't write anything but some crappy poetry. We were out of town last weekend so the letter had to wait. Here we are, and here are some pictures and words for posterity.
You're a wild child. A smasher, basher, crasher, bonker. You climb to the tippity-top and soar from the highest heights. I try to be cool and free-range, but when you're playing outside while I do dishes or start dinner, I routinely find you balancing precariously on the railing of the deck, or splashing in a mud puddle you've created at the foot of the rain barrel. There's no keeping you clean, or even on the ground for that matter. You're starting to understand some physical limits, but I spend a lot of my energy saying things like, "Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!"
I picked you up from childcare at the Y one day and noticed you had a plastic Triceratops turned over like a gun. In an hour's time, some kid called Drew taught you that anything can be a weapon. It was a sad day! You talked about your "chopgun" for days afterward. Everything you have makes a shooting noise now, "Pew! Pew! Pew!" You even started using it as a verb, "I pewed that ball over the fence!" or "I'm gonna pew you! Pew! Pew! Pew!" Sigh. Some people say this is just being a boy, but you were rough and tumble and all boy before we all started getting pewed.
Here are some of the awesome things you've said recently:
"When you turn five, you can ride a really red racecar. Mine is #24 and it has windows on it!"
After theatrically removing your hat one a walk one day, you sadly looked at me and said, "A rabbit didn't pop out."
Early one morning you shouted in your sleep "Knife and Fork Team!" I'm now planning a children's book.
When we zipped up your pajamas one night, you said, "Without my belly, there's no place for pajamas."
You looked at Pop's legs and asked him "Are they made of wood?"
When you're telling any story in the past tense, it happened "on Tuesday." Tuesday comes before Wednesday, "Third-day" and "Five-day."
Conversations with you are delightful and most of the time they're what keep me sane when you refuse to cooperate. Which you almost always do. You're endlessly curious about EVERYTHING and you've entered the "why" phase. If I ask something like "Why do you think?" you say "Tell me, Mommy!" None of my tricks work very long with you. It's hard. The days are long. So long. I love you so, but you drive me crazy these days.
I'm happy to be your mom and I still feel blessed to be able to spend my days with you.
Love,
Mama
p.s.
I made you a cape, and in doing so, unleashed SuperJack.
You're 33 months now. I'm later than ever on your letter, but like so many other things these days, I just have to let it go. Last month I was so frustrated on the 10th that I couldn't write anything but some crappy poetry. We were out of town last weekend so the letter had to wait. Here we are, and here are some pictures and words for posterity.
You're a wild child. A smasher, basher, crasher, bonker. You climb to the tippity-top and soar from the highest heights. I try to be cool and free-range, but when you're playing outside while I do dishes or start dinner, I routinely find you balancing precariously on the railing of the deck, or splashing in a mud puddle you've created at the foot of the rain barrel. There's no keeping you clean, or even on the ground for that matter. You're starting to understand some physical limits, but I spend a lot of my energy saying things like, "Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!"
I picked you up from childcare at the Y one day and noticed you had a plastic Triceratops turned over like a gun. In an hour's time, some kid called Drew taught you that anything can be a weapon. It was a sad day! You talked about your "chopgun" for days afterward. Everything you have makes a shooting noise now, "Pew! Pew! Pew!" You even started using it as a verb, "I pewed that ball over the fence!" or "I'm gonna pew you! Pew! Pew! Pew!" Sigh. Some people say this is just being a boy, but you were rough and tumble and all boy before we all started getting pewed.
Here are some of the awesome things you've said recently:
"When you turn five, you can ride a really red racecar. Mine is #24 and it has windows on it!"
After theatrically removing your hat one a walk one day, you sadly looked at me and said, "A rabbit didn't pop out."
Early one morning you shouted in your sleep "Knife and Fork Team!" I'm now planning a children's book.
When we zipped up your pajamas one night, you said, "Without my belly, there's no place for pajamas."
You looked at Pop's legs and asked him "Are they made of wood?"
When you're telling any story in the past tense, it happened "on Tuesday." Tuesday comes before Wednesday, "Third-day" and "Five-day."
Conversations with you are delightful and most of the time they're what keep me sane when you refuse to cooperate. Which you almost always do. You're endlessly curious about EVERYTHING and you've entered the "why" phase. If I ask something like "Why do you think?" you say "Tell me, Mommy!" None of my tricks work very long with you. It's hard. The days are long. So long. I love you so, but you drive me crazy these days.
I'm happy to be your mom and I still feel blessed to be able to spend my days with you.
Love,
Mama
p.s.
I made you a cape, and in doing so, unleashed SuperJack.
Friday, February 10, 2012
32 months
To the two year-old:
I give up.
I give up trying to put your shoes on.
I give up helping you into your carseat.
I give up reason, rationality, and logic.
I give up hope that you'll nap today.
I give up my own agenda.
I give up pride.
I give up protecting myself from vulnerability.
I give up judgment.
I give up certain.
I give up easy.
I give up quiet.
I give up clean.
I give up the old ways.
I give up my hurt.
I give up my heart.
I give up.
I give up.
I give.
I give up.
I give up trying to put your shoes on.
I give up helping you into your carseat.
I give up reason, rationality, and logic.
I give up hope that you'll nap today.
I give up my own agenda.
I give up pride.
I give up protecting myself from vulnerability.
I give up judgment.
I give up certain.
I give up easy.
I give up quiet.
I give up clean.
I give up the old ways.
I give up my hurt.
I give up my heart.
I give up.
I give up.
I give.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Dear Jack,
Today you are 31 months old. I'm 31 years! This is the first and last time our numbers will line up. You spent this last month charming me and terrifying me.
My son, you still don't seem to have a concept of danger. I love that you are adventurous. I want you to stay that way. But I want you to survive. You darted out the back door of a restaurant and bounded up a hill toward a very busy road. I don't know if you would have stopped, and I didn't have to find out. Our friend Rob, thank God, was a few steps closer to you and chased you down. I really am at a loss for the next step. If you did it all the time, I'd just suffer the evil stares and get you a leash. Most of the time, though, we're a team. We have fun. You don't run. I pray that you will learn soon that being aware of your surroundings is necessary.
Now about all the fun we've had. We drove to Florida on Christmas Eve and spent a week in a lovely beach house with most of my family. The picture above shows your reaction to being so close to the water. Ah. See what I mean about danger? You are oblivious. I thought this year you would really "get" Christmas and be so excited about presents. We got you a train set, and you very seriously investigated it for a long time. You didn't understand that you had a couple more gifts to open. That's okay with me.
Your cousins arrived later that day, and that was the best gift for you. It made me so happy to see how excited you are around Andrew and Liam. I like to think that you were saving up lots of love and energy to share with the big boys you only see a few times a year. You were sweet with baby Karis, too. We had so much fun that week. Before Christmas, I had made an advent calendar with little pockets, and each day you got a different sticker to put on a paper tree. You loved your "cal-en-ator" and are still asking where it is.
I haven't measured or weighed you lately, but you seem to be growing more. You'd slowed down a lot over the last six months, but you seem taller, and certainly heavier. I'd guess you're around 35 lbs. Your "winter" hair is darker than your summer blonde, and of course, you're always dirty. I have to admit that I love this about you.
One of your favorite things to say these days is "When I was a..." Like, when we saw a crane, you said, "When I was a crane, I lifted up so high to a giant's head and then I...JUMPED OVER!" You also talk about when you were a baby (and had a dragon in your castle), or when you were "older" (and drove a big car to the big town!). When a friend is leaving, or you're trying to stall on bedtime, you say, "Wait! I have an idea!" I'll say, "What is it?" You'll scramble to think of anything at all, and most of the time you give a list, like "We could...change my diaper. We could...play a game...we could...eat SMARSHSMALLOWS! Does that sound like a good idea?" You're so delightful! Talking to you is so much fun. At breakfast today you were looking at your placemat and said, "I don't like lions. They're yucky! They taste yucky! They taste like lion. They're made of lion." You're a nut.
Thanks for making my days bright, sweet boy. I hope next month I can report that you're sticking by my side a little bit better.
Love,
Mama
Today you are 31 months old. I'm 31 years! This is the first and last time our numbers will line up. You spent this last month charming me and terrifying me.
My son, you still don't seem to have a concept of danger. I love that you are adventurous. I want you to stay that way. But I want you to survive. You darted out the back door of a restaurant and bounded up a hill toward a very busy road. I don't know if you would have stopped, and I didn't have to find out. Our friend Rob, thank God, was a few steps closer to you and chased you down. I really am at a loss for the next step. If you did it all the time, I'd just suffer the evil stares and get you a leash. Most of the time, though, we're a team. We have fun. You don't run. I pray that you will learn soon that being aware of your surroundings is necessary.
Now about all the fun we've had. We drove to Florida on Christmas Eve and spent a week in a lovely beach house with most of my family. The picture above shows your reaction to being so close to the water. Ah. See what I mean about danger? You are oblivious. I thought this year you would really "get" Christmas and be so excited about presents. We got you a train set, and you very seriously investigated it for a long time. You didn't understand that you had a couple more gifts to open. That's okay with me.
Your cousins arrived later that day, and that was the best gift for you. It made me so happy to see how excited you are around Andrew and Liam. I like to think that you were saving up lots of love and energy to share with the big boys you only see a few times a year. You were sweet with baby Karis, too. We had so much fun that week. Before Christmas, I had made an advent calendar with little pockets, and each day you got a different sticker to put on a paper tree. You loved your "cal-en-ator" and are still asking where it is.
I haven't measured or weighed you lately, but you seem to be growing more. You'd slowed down a lot over the last six months, but you seem taller, and certainly heavier. I'd guess you're around 35 lbs. Your "winter" hair is darker than your summer blonde, and of course, you're always dirty. I have to admit that I love this about you.
One of your favorite things to say these days is "When I was a..." Like, when we saw a crane, you said, "When I was a crane, I lifted up so high to a giant's head and then I...JUMPED OVER!" You also talk about when you were a baby (and had a dragon in your castle), or when you were "older" (and drove a big car to the big town!). When a friend is leaving, or you're trying to stall on bedtime, you say, "Wait! I have an idea!" I'll say, "What is it?" You'll scramble to think of anything at all, and most of the time you give a list, like "We could...change my diaper. We could...play a game...we could...eat SMARSHSMALLOWS! Does that sound like a good idea?" You're so delightful! Talking to you is so much fun. At breakfast today you were looking at your placemat and said, "I don't like lions. They're yucky! They taste yucky! They taste like lion. They're made of lion." You're a nut.
Thanks for making my days bright, sweet boy. I hope next month I can report that you're sticking by my side a little bit better.
Love,
Mama
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Dear Jack,
Today you are 30 months old. Two and a half years! Wow.
You're wonderful in a million ways, but the last month has tried me more than any other. Several times lately you have run away from me, sprinting once into a parking lot and twice across large stores, out of my sight. Each time you did this, I felt desperate. I knew I couldn't get to you immediately, and it terrified me. I know that I have to learn that I can't keep you safe at all times, but you're still too young to understand some of the basic boundaries for survival. Please, please, please, son - stay by my side a little bit longer. You throw tantrums of protest that are new for us. You insist on climbing into your carseat with no help, for instance, or passionately refuse a diaper change. You throw your weight around or kick at me. When I ask you to do something, you most often say "No." So you're two. I get it. But being your mom these days is exhausting.
I can see you learning (and many times, failing) to process your emotions. You speak so well that I think it's not so much that you can't communicate, but that you have difficulty accepting that you are not always the one who decides. Many days, it takes everything I have to parent you peacefully. Even then I falter. You're intense, and trying to match that intensity never works. I have to calm myself down so I can teach you to do the same.
This is how I do it:
When you're shrieking, I think of you singing "How much is that spider in my milkshake? (splash splash)" or my personal favorite, "I'm a GI-ANT in the WO-ORLD! I rescue everybody in the world!"
When you tell me NO, NO, NO, I think of you sitting at the breakfast table and saying, "Mommy, I'm just waiting for my oatmeal to come true." Or when you saw the Christmas tree lit up for the first time and gasped, "Oh Mommy, it's magical! I yuv it!"
When you scowl at me, I think of all the cute things you've said this month, like "That's fantas-kit!" and "I'm so be-cited (excited)," or wishing Gram a "Happy Birthgiving" on turkey day. Or, I ask you to wink. You can wink now! It's really stinkin' cute.
Any time I feel like I can't take it anymore, I think of you hugging me at bedtime, and saying in a sleepy voice, "I'm so good you love me. I mean, I'm so GLAD you love me."
I'm glad you are who you are, and I'm so glad I get help you grow up. It's hard and it takes everything right now.
You're worth it.
Love,
Mama
Today you are 30 months old. Two and a half years! Wow.
You're wonderful in a million ways, but the last month has tried me more than any other. Several times lately you have run away from me, sprinting once into a parking lot and twice across large stores, out of my sight. Each time you did this, I felt desperate. I knew I couldn't get to you immediately, and it terrified me. I know that I have to learn that I can't keep you safe at all times, but you're still too young to understand some of the basic boundaries for survival. Please, please, please, son - stay by my side a little bit longer. You throw tantrums of protest that are new for us. You insist on climbing into your carseat with no help, for instance, or passionately refuse a diaper change. You throw your weight around or kick at me. When I ask you to do something, you most often say "No." So you're two. I get it. But being your mom these days is exhausting.
I can see you learning (and many times, failing) to process your emotions. You speak so well that I think it's not so much that you can't communicate, but that you have difficulty accepting that you are not always the one who decides. Many days, it takes everything I have to parent you peacefully. Even then I falter. You're intense, and trying to match that intensity never works. I have to calm myself down so I can teach you to do the same.
This is how I do it:
When you're shrieking, I think of you singing "How much is that spider in my milkshake? (splash splash)" or my personal favorite, "I'm a GI-ANT in the WO-ORLD! I rescue everybody in the world!"
When you tell me NO, NO, NO, I think of you sitting at the breakfast table and saying, "Mommy, I'm just waiting for my oatmeal to come true." Or when you saw the Christmas tree lit up for the first time and gasped, "Oh Mommy, it's magical! I yuv it!"
When you scowl at me, I think of all the cute things you've said this month, like "That's fantas-kit!" and "I'm so be-cited (excited)," or wishing Gram a "Happy Birthgiving" on turkey day. Or, I ask you to wink. You can wink now! It's really stinkin' cute.
Any time I feel like I can't take it anymore, I think of you hugging me at bedtime, and saying in a sleepy voice, "I'm so good you love me. I mean, I'm so GLAD you love me."
I'm glad you are who you are, and I'm so glad I get help you grow up. It's hard and it takes everything right now.
You're worth it.
Love,
Mama
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