Little man, you’re two. Two, and full of it. You name it. Life. Attitude. Smiles. Surprises. Emotions. Noise. Mess. Love. Joy. You made my world louder, brighter, more unexpected, bigger, different, better. I love you. You wear me out. You fry my brain some days trying to figure out how to get you to eat something, trying to anticipate when you’re going to melt down and reign in my reactions to all the ways you catch me off guard and tempt me to fly off the handle, which I sometimes do. Your reactions can be so big, so unreasonable. But then, I see myself in you too. I can be that way. And then, you look at me, you reach for me, you hold my hand, you ask for me, you let me know that you love me in the pure way that only a 2-year-old can, and the difficulties, the craziness, it’s nothing. Because you are so incredibly special, and you put more smiles on my face in a day that I would have imagined possibly.
You literally always smile back. One out of 1000 times, you don’t. Even when you’re mad. Even when you’re sad. Even when you’re sick or tired. I can get you to smile back at me. And when you’re happy, you initiate it every time you make eye contact. You’re just pure smiles. Pure joy. I can get you belly laughing with just the threat of nibbling on your delicious arm pits. You hold your feet up for me to kiss before I put them in your jammies. You point to your rocking chair when it’s time for bed and ask for your “teetee” (binky) and then you melt into me and share your blanky with me, tickling my face with the edge of it, smiling at me, so happy to share something you love so much with someone you love so much. And Daddy and sissy too. You love to share your blanky with us all.
You are starting to understand bargaining. You’ll eat a bite of food you don’t want for a bite of food you do. You understand when you do wrong. You literally put out your lip, look down, and sniff repeatedly when you feel bad that you’ve done something you know you shouldn’t have. You say sorry now, with hugs, which you have to do pretty frequently since you have started throwing things and playing rough with your sister. You bonk her on the head with something at least a couple of times per day. It’s not malicious. You just get excited. When she starts to cry, you feel bad. After your time outs, you are always willing to toddle over to her and give her a warm hug to let her know you didn’t mean it.
Your sister, incidentally, you call “Seesee.” It’s funny. Like with a Spanish accent.
When we’ve had our little talks after you get in trouble. I tend to end with “okay?” I’m not sure what exactly you’re trying to say in response, but it sounds like “AaaahhMom,” and it’s your way of agreeing with me. It’s always said in a repentant, sweet voice that proceeds those sweet hugs of recompense. You feel everything so strongly and there is no filter when it comes out. So we get both sides of it, and the sweet and happy parts could melt the coldest heart.
Your word count is growing, but you’re far from conversations. It’s a word here or there. Sometimes you surprise me by knowing one I didn’t expect. You pointed to some balloons the other day and said something that was close enough that I understood you. And you have started pointing and yelling “corn” whenever you see the popcorn popper out. You still are an awesome sleeper, still taking 2 naps a day usually and sleeping 12 hours a night. All those emotions wear you out I guess. When you wake up, you’ll lay in bed content with your binky and blanky until I come get you. You never cry when you go down, or when you get up, unless you’re sick or something is wrong. You’re an angel. You eat only what you want when you want. We’ve gotten very strict about the if no meal, then no snacking rule. It’s hard. Because you get really hungry by the next meal time and it’s almost insufferable to have you whining between my legs when I’m cooking dinner. But if you give you ANYthing, even a couple of bites, it’s enough to put you off a whole meal. You eat when you’re hungry. I hope that we can get to some kind of lesson learned place with you about food. We must persevere. You love all the things that you’d expect. Crackers and fruit and cheese and sweets and bread. You also adore nuts of all kinds, and broccoli and tomatoes. And sprouted, seeded whole grain toast. You hate potatoes. The only way you’ll eat them is fried, and even then, only sometimes. You still love breakfast sausage. Sometimes you like ham. You love oven roasted chicken, but other than than, you’re not a meat fan. Oh, you’ll also eat ground turkey in spaghetti. Why am I telling you all this? I don’t know. These are the things that fill my brain on a daily basis. You’re a lot of work in the food department. It’s constant effort, trying to plan when and what to feed you and not feed you so that we can get the maximum healthy calories in you with the least amount of mess, noise, effort and fuss. Seriously. It’s tiring. But it’s the age. You’ll outgrow it. I have to remind myself of that constantly. With all the hard work and extra effort comes all the wonderful things about the age of 2 that are precious and fleeting.
On your birthday morning, we opened some presents from Granny and Grandpa and Auntie Steph and we took a train ride into San Diego. You love trains, a love that was fueled by the fact that we were also camping by the tracks, so you got to see them go by every 15 minutes or so for several days. Just as fun for us and it was for you. So, so cute. Hearing you say “choochoo” and point and get all excited about the coming and the going and the getting on and riding. We walked around Old Town, got some Mexican food at the same restaurant where we celebrated Adela’s third birthday. You were serenaded and got to blow out two candles on a dish of fried ice cream. Unfortunately, Adela had a fever by this point and was feeling terrible. So it was a tired ride back. But all in all, a good day.
Happy Birthday, Bubba. We love you so much!
