2 Years

Dear Munchkin Boy:

"Once there was a tree...and she loved a little boy."

Thus begins my favorite children's book of all time: The Giving Tree, by Shel Silverstein. It's the story of the tree who gives everything from her body to her soul--happily--to the boy who loves her, even when he becomes "too old" to swing from her branches and eat her apples, and trades in her company for the companionship of another. When I was a child, it never occurred to me that the overall tone of the book was a bit sad; I seemed only to be drawn to the simplicity of the drawings and narration. Only as an adult did it strike me as melancholy. Then I became a mother. Then I became a mother to a toddler. Then I became a mother to a two year old, and I now believe the book is a metaphor for motherhood.

We have our ups and downs, you and me. I think toddlerhood provides some foreshadowing to the teen years, and rumor has it that the wackier the toddler years (for boys), the calmer the teen years. Here's hoping, buddy. :o)

It's funny, though, how quickly you can erase a tantrum from my memory, by singing the lyrics to a Lady Gaga song. You have an infectious laugh which turns into a belly guffaw when you're surprised, as you were the other day when "Ayeksis" was pushing you around in the tire swing for the first time. Your current favorite question is, "Mommy, what are you doing here?" What you really mean is, "What are you doing?" but it comes out a lot funnier your way. You also like to demand, "Mommy! Turn around!"--particularly when I'm engaged in conversation with someone else and you want my attention back on you.

You talk about your grandparents CONSTANTLY. "Go see Grandma kitty cats?" "Grandad say 'cheese?'" "Go see GrannyGrandDedeplaywithtrucksandcars?" "Where Papa go?" "See goatsandmotorcycles at Mim's house?" "Grandpa play golf?" "Grammie sleep in Simon's room?" (That's a new one. I have no idea what he's talking about.) You are so blessed to have eight wonderful grandparents who dote on you with their love and attention (and probably too many toys, but whatever).

Avery is your new best friend. I'm hardly needed in the morning because the two of you chase each other around the house, play with her toys, try to teach her to not eat yours, run around the yard, roll around in the grass. Our hearts still ache for Oliver, but we know that Avery is a playmate better suited to your unpredictable toddler energy.

You are adept at all sports, at the present. You can hit a baseball off a tee further than I can; you're a little ambidextrous; you love to "play shoot" (basketball) in the basement; when you play football with your dad you say, "Hut, hut, HIKE;" you've even been known to kick around a soccer ball now and then--to my chagrin.

Your singing voice is developing nicely. I'm sure Miss Mary will be pleased. Your biggest musical accomplishment to date is learning "Happy Birthday," and even being able to follow the pitch contour with impressive accuracy.

You're still working hard on learning your manners. Sometimes you say, "Thankyoumommyyou'rewelcome," which cracks me up. And you're now aware that burping isn't considered socially acceptable. You give a look like, "Oh, crap. Now whaddoIdo?" Someday you'll learn to say, "Excuse me."

It occurred to me the other day that your preferred toys are getting (hurray!) quieter. From noisy V-Tech trains to Matchbox cars, animal figurines, your dad's old Star Wars "guys," wheely back-packs, and booksbooksbooks. I love to sneak into your room and "catch" you reading on the floor. You get very upset with me when I reorganize your books or put those on the floor back on the shelf. There is clearly a system with which I'm unfamiliar. :o)

You still wear a size 5 diaper during the day (and your little potbelly has shrunk almost completely away! That makes (made) two of us!), and a 6 at night. Your feet are just about ready to get into size 7s, and you fit comfortably into a 2T, though we prefer the adjustable waist pants. See shrinking belly, above.

You're still able to charm the pants of every lady you see. We call you the Mayor of the Jewel (the local grocery store), because you can't enter or leave without saying hello and goodbye to everyone you encounter. Your dad and I caught you flirting at a restaurant one night, tilting your head from side to side and playing peek-a-boo with the elderly woman at the next table. Sweet.

My favorite part of the day will always be when you find a reason for me to pick you up, and you wrap your little arms around me and squeeze (and sometimes play with my ponytail when you're really sleepy)--so don't ever stop doing that. Some days I can't believe we still have three...whole...years before you'll go to Kindergarten. Other days I can't believe I can't hold you with one arm anymore. Where has two years gone?

Hugs and Kisses and a Happy Birthday (since you sort of know what that means this year).

Love,

Mom