Before you were born, I feared I wouldn’t love you enough, what with your big sister’s big personality. Now, I think sometimes I love you too much. You instinctively call for me and in the process shun help from others. I secretly love it, even when I force someone else to respond to your needs.
We understand each other in a way I wouldn’t have expected. Our personalities mesh. We don’t need people all the time. We’re content by ourselves. And we don’t want to be left out of anything. I’m looking forward to seeing how this develops in both of our lives.
You’re officially two today, but unofficially, you’ve been 2 in my mind for a long time. You walked before you were 1. You’ve been talking — to keep up with your sister — for practically as long, it seems. Nothing stops you or slows you down — not even the bumps and bruises of life that seem to find you more than they ever found your sister.
You are all boy, and though sometimes, I have no idea what to do with that, I love the differences you’ve brought to our lives. “Boy — a noise with dirt on it.” I saw this definition on a piece of scrapbooking paper. I laughed at the time, thinking it was clever. Now I know it’s true, too.
If there’s a puddle, you jump in it and splash through it. If too many leaves are gathered in one spot, you shuffle through them with a big grin on your face. “Again?” you ask, answering with another run-through before I’ve had a chance to answer. If you’re holding one object, you must find another to hit it against. And sometimes, you just rock out to your own beat.
And the sweetness. You aren’t always noisy or dirty or mischievous. Sometimes, you are so sweet, I want to cry.
“Please I may?” You’ve found the secret to getting your way. It doesn’t matter what you’re asking, when you ask with these words, my heart screams, “Yes!”
You faithfully give hugs (squeezes), kisses and noses, and your soft “I wuv you” is heart melting.
Some days, I want to skip the next 20 years and see what you become. OK, I don’t really want to skip them, but I want to see how God uses this personality. I joke that you’re going to play football because knocks to the head don’t seem to faze you. Your mother is another story. If you do play football, I will be the mother in the stands who can’t look but who will be there to support you, nonetheless.
A few hundred words can’t adequately capture all of who you are.
Maybe a video will help.
And another picture.
It’s true that we seem to take less pictures of just you than we did of your sister. I confess that we celebrated every milestone in picture with her. I fear the condition of your baby book compared to hers.
But don’t ever believe that we loved you less than her. Yes, she was our first child. But you are our first son. And that is something special, too.
Happy birthday, little man. You won’t stay little, so I’ll say it as long as I can.
The journey to 2 has been a wild ride so far. I’m certain the next year will bring us more wild times, too.