Dear Baby Boy

Today you are two. Can I still call you my baby?

Two years ago today, at 5:42 AM, you stubbornly entered the world 4 days later than you were supposed to. I knew at that moment you had your daddy’s DNA; he always runs late.  You spent your first 36 hours charming the NICU nurses before we finally had you all to ourselves.  You had the sweetest little newborn face.

We brought you home to a house we’d just moved into ourselves.  One day I’ll tell you just how much fun it was to move into a new house at the end of August, in the miserable summer heat, 3.5 weeks from my due date.  But nevertheless we were ready for you, partly because your Nana, who was helping us get settled, threatened to not leave until your daddy got the nursery painted and set up.  That lit a spark under him for sure.

We were blessed with a baby who loved to eat, loved to sleep, and didn’t cry just for the fun of it.  Everyone tells us we won’t be so lucky the second time around but we’ll just have to see about that.  You and I had a lot of conversations while you were in my belly, and most of them focused on how much I enjoy my sleep and needed you to accommodate that.  For the most part you’ve held up your end of the bargain.

Lots of important dates have come and gone since you arrived 2 Septembers ago, but here’s one I will never forget: Monday, November 29, 2010.  It’s the first day I sent you to daycare.  When I was pregnant I thought for sure I’d be ready to get back to work by the time my leave was winding down.  I couldn’t have been more wrong.  The last 2 weeks before the start of daycare (D-Day) I bought lottery tickets, came up with work-from-home schemes, and begged your daddy to demand a huge raise so I didn’t have to go back to work and send you into the arms of strangers.  I deliberately scheduled MY first day back to work two days after YOUR first day so I could pull myself together.  Inevitably D-Day came, and I’m sure your teachers thought I was a nut job dripping tears and snot all over the sign-in sheet that morning.

But you survived, and so did I.  You’re growing and thriving and learning new things every day.  You’ve taken your first steps and had your first ear infection.  You’ve learned how to count and put on your shoes, but you can’t figure out how to blow bubbles using the little wand.  You’re short like me, but agile and sneaky.  You have crazy hair and always say “thank you” when someone gives you something.  You’ve had your first goose egg on your head; actually you’ve had a couple of them…  You are cautious in new situations, not at all boisterous or reckless.  Your lovey is still a burp cloth, which is great for us because there’s an endless supply.  To me you are the most precious child on the earth, but like most mothers I am a little biased.  You make me laugh like nobody else can, and because of you I’ve discovered a softer, more patient side to my otherwise orderly and Type-A way of life.

Happy birthday little boy.  I know I’ve had some screw-ups during these first couple of years, but I’m giving it 110% and would sacrifice everything I have to keep you safe, happy, and healthy.  Tonight we’ll celebrate with cupcakes, minus the icing on yours, because you like your sweets unadorned.  I’ll never understand this side of you…  XOXO


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