To The Boy on his 2nd Birthday:
We had a rocky start, you and I. With jaundice, low milk supply, poor latch, it seemed like the Powers That Be didn't want us to breastfeed, but we persevered. I thought my heart would break when you had double hernia surgery at 2.5 months. I pretty much had to pretend that it wasn't happening. I went through the hours of separation, and the disturbing post-op in a dream-like state. We got through the "witching hours" at 4 months, when you would scream non-stop from 5pm to 8pm like clockwork. At 6 months, things noticeably changed. We got our first real taste of The Boy Who Would Be. Or, maybe your parents just chilled out for a change. Whatever happened, we both had a lot to learn. Any knowledge worth having is worth working for, right?
Today, you're officially not a "baby" anymore (although we reserve the right to use this term of affection whenever we choose). Today you have suddenly grown into our Little Man, with thoughts and opinions of your own. You like pasta, Goldfish crackers and muffins, and despite all our gender-unspecific conditioning, you play with trucks, trains, boats and adore the Mighty Machines and the "subbie" (subway).
The moments of greatest joy are fleeting, but so achingly sweet, that we replay them over and over again. You brought your new Little People toy to daddy to open, and when he said it would take a while to open (because they package them so confoundingly it takes people far smarter than us to open them), you sat down on the floor and said "I wait". You are prone to taking flying leaps at mummy, shouting "Mummy tak!" (Mummy attack). You always share your food, even when we're not hungry, and insist that we eat. Often, when you awaken with a stinky diaper, we are greeted with bleats of "P-U!". You are very specific about where people should sit when they play with you, and when people (i.e. Mummy) should stop singing.
Best of all, though, is the little hand that rests on my leg when I read you a story, or the little head that rests on my shoulder as I carry you to bed. These are the moments when I stop being a proud parent, and I'm just Mummy.
Happy Birthday, bubbie! I love you much more than this letter can say.
Sunday, January 14, 2007
I refuse to be labelled! OK, just this once: birthdays
Made by Andrea Micheloni