To my son (age 2)

Dear Bobo,

You turned two yesterday, which is a direct violation of my wish that you stay my baby boy forever. I found myself thinking about your actual birth day a lot yesterday: how big I was, how overdue you were (I still joke that you weren’t induced…you were evicted. You seemed to have no intention of coming on your own), how much I longed to see your face, to know who you were, what you looked like. And when I saw this face, I was gone, I was so in love.


I loved you the moment you were born and I love you every moment now. You are sunshine and joy to your papa and me.

At two you are almost 29 pounds and 35 inches. No one in recorded history has ever loved balls more than you (“Watcha da soccer ball, mama?) and even your sports loving papa doesn’t have the unbridled enthusiasm that you do when there are sports on TV. You like Elmo’s World– you LOVE Sports Center. According to your doctor, you have the gross motor skills of a three year old. T-ball and swim team and soccer are in your future, I think. Before you were born your papa and I would wonder if you’d like sports or be more into reading and politics (like your biggest big brother) or the arts (like your other big brother) or something totally different. Know this, little person, we love you and will support whatever passions or interests you might have. We love that you love sports so far, but you can do or be whatever you want as you get older. We will always be there to cheer you on.


You are getting more and more independent (“Away Dada! Away!”) and you give us the defensive shoulder (shoulder pulled up to your face, back turned to us) when we try to take away something that you want. You get mad sometimes and you hit but you usually come out of time out with a whispered “sorry mama dada” and a hug for whoever put you there. You are gloriously affectionate most days, full of kisses, starting to tell us unprompted that you love us.

You’ve never had stranger anxiety a day in your life. You flirt with waitresses and old ladies at the park and you love to see other babies. We took you to a new doctor yesterday and they skipped the scheduled autism screening, partially because you are off the developmental chart for communication but mostly because you are such an obviously social little creature.

I love you little boy. Love your skinned knees, your curly hair that you hate having combed, your thick feet, your toddler pot belly (the pot belly/visible ribs combo is pretty funny), your dirty fingernails, and your sweet sweet face.

Now quit it with the growing up so fast nonsense, hear me?



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