Dear Baby Boy,
First off, let me start by saying that technically you aren’t a baby anymore. You are a full-blown toddler. But I will always call you my baby. You will just have to learn to accept it and enjoy your place at the bottom.
You are approaching your second birthday and I can hardly believe how quickly time has flown. You have grown so much. Your chubby little hands vroom your cars around and with a practiced eye you aim them for your sister’s feet or the cats. You run squealing or screaming (I’m not really sure which) through the house in delight when we play our version of hide and seek.
Your stubby little legs still get away from you from time to time and you trip, falling face first on the ground. But you bring your sad little self to me and I always kiss your boo boo’s all better. I love that my kiss can heal all that is wrong right now.
My son, your mischievousness knows no bounds. I often say that it is a good thing that you are cute, because otherwise you’d be in big trouble. It’s not a lie, my son.
I love how, when you want me to turn on a show for you, you will bring me the remote, then hustle yourself onto the couch and pat the spot beside you wanting me to watch with you. I know you won’t want me by your side forever and I relish those moments. Last night as I was running away from home in my head, you sidled up next to me, wrapped your tiny arm around my neck and for the first time told me you loved me.
You don’t know it, but you kissed my boo boo’s all better too.
You make me crazy, my little man, with your insistence and tantrums when things don’t go your way. I can never leave you alone for too long out of fear. But you know what? I can’t for one second, imagine my life without you. You are crazy, and happy, and sad and adorable and…well, you are just perfectly you.
I love you baby boy.
P.S. If you feel the need to wake me up at the crack of stupid, could you please not immediately throw a fit. It makes for a rough morning.