To my big two year old,
Where do I begin? The person that you are becoming is absolutely impossible to capture in words. It’s surprising to me that so much of your personality was evident from the day you were born, but I didn’t recognize it at the time. I still remember all of the details of that day so vividly. The way my stomach involuntarily clenched tighter than I ever thought possible, and grew tighter and tighter with each contraction. The way I squeezed my eyes shut and furrowed my brow and tried my best to breathe deeply as my body, and your little body, took over my mind. The way the light came into my hospital room. The way Daddy looked so helpless. The squeak of the exercise ball under my extra weight as I rolled around the room trying to be as comfortable as possible. The way my swollen feet stuck to the floor as I paced back and forth from the bed to the ball to the bathroom. The way I looked out the window at the clouds in the morning sky and wondered what your sweet little face would look like when this was all over. What your voice would sound like. What you’d be like when you grew up.
I had no idea, at that moment, that in two years you would be the hilarious, silly, rambunctious, fearless, wildly extroverted, sweet little charmer that you are today. I had no idea that Daddy and I would sit around at night and marvel at how perfect you are. (It’s true. We do. Yes, still.). I had no idea that you would become the funniest person I’ve ever met. I had no idea that you would be so hungry to learn new things, and, even at two years old, ask incredibly astute questions.
I had no idea that you would be so social that you would learn everyone’s name you have ever met, and that you would repeat them day after day and constantly ask “What’s her name? What’s his name?” about everyone from the mailman to the person on tv. I had no idea that you would love to sing to yourself. (Confession: Your newly discovered “singing voice” is just about the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. An awesome remix of “Tinkle, Tinkle” and “Baa Baa Black Sheep” is, by far, your favorite song to sing).
I had no idea you would get so much joy out of running around with balloons on your birthday. I had no idea you would look forward to bathtime every night so you could chase the bar of soap around and squeal, “WHERE’D IT GO?!”.
I had no idea you would adore being the center of attention as much as you do. (Ok, I could have guessed that, judging by the fact that you are a product of Daddy and I, but you really glow in the spotlight. People can’t take their eyes off of you, and you’ll do anything to keep the show going.). I had no idea that you could fall off the couch a million times, bang your face on the coffee table, fall off the climbing wall at the playground and get countless bruises and scrapes every day, and still grin and say, “AGAIN!” instead of crying. You are like a rubber ball. You’re so tough it takes my breath away. And scares the crap out of me at the same time.
And yet, I had no idea you would also wake up tearful sometimes and say, “Hold you, Mommy? Rock in chair?”, looking up at me with your clear, blue eyes. You love to snuggle, and to pretend to sleep together (which you dubbed “honk-shooing” the other night, because we always pretend to snore). (I think I died a little right there from the cuteness.). There is nothing I love more than those sweet cuddles. I don’t care how big you get; I hope you always want to rock with me. I’ll always be here to rock with you.
I had no idea, two years ago, that you would be so darn smart. Do you know what words you learned at school today? “Constantinople” and “Timbuktu”. Do you even know you just turned two today? Sometimes your sentences are so clear and your statements are so profound that I forget too. I had no idea I would want to videotape everything you do and send it to all of our friends and family constantly. But honestly, you amaze me just about every minute of every day.
In short, you are an awesome kid. And you’re growing up to be such an awesome person. And I bet when you read this you’ll be all, “Aww, Mom. Shut up. And stop saying awesome. You’re so lame.”. But I mean it. Your personality is absolutely the best parts of Daddy and the best parts of me, and some of your own special sauce too. It’s a combination far better than I ever could have imagined, two years ago, while I waited to see your face.
I love you. I love every little bit of you, even the parts I haven’t even seen yet. Don’t ever forget it.