Today you turn 18 months old. Your mother, as I am sure you are aware, is a total sap about such things. There is a blog that I read pretty regularly (because the writer is the coolest woman ever) and was inspired by the monthly letters she writes to her daughter. So my dear boy, you will get letters to read someday too.
Your Grandpa Jay says that we should be writing down all of your “Will-isms” now, because such memories fade with time. Part of me thinks that possibly can’t be true…I mean how could I ever forget your fantastic lion sounds or the way you say “guck” for the word truck or your slick ninja moves that even come accompanied with their own sound effects (oooh-WAAAH). But then I realize that I can’t remember how old you were when you cut your first tooth and I know that he is right. In my defense, I have a terrible head for dates – your father is lucky I ever remember his birthday. So, I am hoping that by writing you these letters, I will never forget these things. Also, in case you someday forget that you ever had a childhood, I can whip these out and prove it to you.
This last month has been so wonderful with you. I am amazed daily at the things you are learning and mastering. Your school must be a wonderful place because half the stuff that comes out of your mouth sure wasn’t taught to you by us. I was changing your diaper the other day and you pointed up at the dots hung on the wall (Applied in a fantastically random pattern by your Nana, the World’s Best Organizer) and said “Gircle” clear as day. I assume that was to mean circle as you are currently replacing the first letter of every word with the letter “G”. I said, “Yes Will, that’s right. A Circle.” And you gave me to broadest, most proud of yourself smile I have ever seen. After I got over my initial shock, I thought to myself this kid is a freakin’ genius and we have nothing to do with.
And oh, you are a determined child. This month, you mastered climbing down the stairs at your Grandpa Jay and Grandma Ann’s in one afternoon. You know how you did this? Sheer force of will. You had two trouble spots that you went over, and over…and over, until you could walk down the stairs all by yourself. And when your father came to pick you up, you proudly showed him what you had worked on all afternoon. I have no idea where you get this sense of patience for challenging tasks, because it was certainly not from your parents. If this is a personality trait of yours that sticks, we will drive you crazy when you are older.
You continue breaking my heart in wonderful little ways. In the morning, when we bring you into to our bed for cuddle time you will lay across your father and I and sing us songs and tell us tales from your nighttime adventures. You must have water from my water bottle on the nightstand before the cuddling can begin. This is not an option. Last week you were sitting in between your father and I and reached your arms out to me and said “hug?” Yep, that didn’t suck at all.
One more thing that your father and I have noticed is that you have a fantastic sense of humor. You laugh harder and more often that any other child we have ever known. And you are starting to make your own little jokes. Like when we ask you what a cow says and you reply “Quack”…and then start to laugh. Or my personal favorite, when I ask you if you can say mama and you reply by yelling “DADA!” at the top of your lungs. Totally my favorite.
This month, one of my favorite things that we did was go to the Beach House with your Grandpa Jay and Grandma Ann. Your father and I love the beach so much that it is almost impossible to put into words. I am now positive that you do as well. It was a very cold and somewhat stormy weekend, but on Sunday the sun came out and we bundled you up for your first beach walk where you could move of your own volition. As soon as you hit the sand, you were off. You headed straight for the water as if a magnet were drawing you towards it. And you walked straight in; with a look in those huge blue eyes of yours that was the closest thing to pure joy I have ever seen. And no fear. No fear of the cold or the roaring waves or the newness of it all. Your father prevented you from soaking yourself and for the next ½ hour it was everything the four of us could do to keep you from running in again. And that, my little prince, is so very you. I sometimes joke that I wish you had a little more “healthy fear” of things that can hurt you. In reality, as you grow up, my wish for you is that I always see pure joy and a lack of fear in your eyes the way I did that day.
Love,
Mom
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