happy two, my little light!
I still remember the night we brought you home—
we walked through the front door, gently settled your car seat on the floor, and then had this moment where we looked at each other like… oh holy shit the baby is at our house.
See, when you’re New Parents at the hospital, everything that happens only feels half real.
That whole place is weird & unfamiliar, so all that takes place within that space almost feels the same; like it’s all still for real, but only just sort of.
Then you get home, and you suddenly have this brand-new human in your living room, and you’re standing there going, okay but do we have somewhere we can put the baby when we’re not holding him? because I don’t know and I really didn’t think much about that part before we left the house, and I can’t just put him in his crib because WHY IS IT SO BIG WHEN HE IS SO SMALL and it looks like a baby jail
Your first night home, you slept next to our bed in this crazy circular bassinet.
We’d had your crib set up down the hall from for months, but that distance was basically next door as far as I was concerned & ALSO HOW WOULD I KNOW IF YOU GOT COLD OR GOT BORED WITH BREATHING
ARE YOU SURE WE CAN JUST…. BE SLEEPING?
WHAT IF HE WAKES UP AND WANTS TO HANG OUT
I was a delight.
As it turned out, the sides of your bassinet were too tall for me to peer over and spy on you, so I spent most of that first night popping up like manic toast, alternating between checking to see if you were cold (HEY BABY IT’S ME AGAIN, YOU COLD BRO?) and checking to see if you were still breathing.
It all feels like yesterday and a lifetime ago—
the late-night nursing sessions where I felt like the only person awake in the quiet, dark world;
the little squeaks you’d make before passing out in a chill milk coma on my shoulder;
how I gave you Friar Tuck hair on accident like, one week in, because I read that exfoliating your scalp with coconut oil would help cure your cradle cap, and all it wound up doing was ERASING YOUR HAIRS AND I AM STILL REGRETFUL ABOUT THIS.
It’s amazing how clear some of those memories stand out still;
the raw fear, the fierce love,
the tiny triumphs, the tears.
If I could go back and talk to brand-new-mama me?
I’d tell her that all the questions you have, and all the things that intimidate you the most, and all the tiny, important pieces that don’t show up in the books or the blogs—
those are the pieces you wind up knowing by heart.
Because, somehow, all the answers are already tucked away inside of you, waiting to be unraveled and known as soon as you need them.
You spent your second birthday introducing yourself to fish at the Denver Aquarium.
During our time in the magical world of contained aquatic life, you were at first intrigued by the pettable pool of stingrays because you thought they were dolphins, then immediately wanted to bail upon learning they were not;
were absolutely terrified by the pretend “flash flood” exhibit, quietly summing up your experience with, “I scared; da-da keep me SAFE“;
and finished out the day with a nap so epic, it looked like you’d melted into your car seat.
Oh, and in a perfect summation of the kind of tiny human supernova you are right now, you happily replied, “Happy birthday to YOU!” every time anyone told you the same.
I’ve yet to stop being in awe of the fact you chose us to do life with you.
On Christmas Eve-ternoon, you went sledding for the very first time.
You spent the entire drive there making sure we were still, indeed, going (“Goin’ said-in?”) and then asking everyone in the truck, including Stines, if they were excited. (“Mama, ‘cited said-in, too? Dada, ‘cited, too? Puppy, you ‘cited?“)
Then there was a construction site across the street from the spot of said sledding, fully stocked with a herd diggers, and your day leveled up SO HARD.
(You’re still talking about that, by the way; you just randomly inform me, “Struck-shun site, mama! And said-in! Diggers by said-in!)”
My dude, you rocked the sledding hill like such a tiny champion.
The first time down, you went all by yourself, and would’ve continued to do the same on every run thereafter if it wasn’t for me & daddy insisting that we go on a few with you.
This very same bravery fuels your urges to scale the kitchen cabinets (on downward-curved pulls, no less);
to climb the metal laundry rack downstairs like it’s a ladder;
and to park your scooter next to the cat tower so you can stand on it to pet Ella & confidently inform me, “Not fall, mama!” the entire time.
It’s badass & brilliant & also incredibly cool.
… also scary.
while you’re still little, and while we’re all still trying to figure out this whole “life” thing—
right now is the very best time to start instilling in you what it means to be a good human, and what it looks like to be part of our family.
With that comes trying to figure out the magic & traditions that we want to incorporate into our holidays;
the things we do that make it special, the way we go about savoring it while it’s here, and how to go about keeping you focused on the good that comes from experiences and adventures, instead of focusing on how many presents are under the tree.
It’s about deciding what it looks like to celebrate birthdays,
and every single day, and each other;
how to create for you a safe place to have big Feelings;
how to do the very best job we know how to shape you into whoever you want to become.
With that comes passing on examples of how to leave the world a better place, how to be a kind human, and encouraging you to do the same;
how to prioritize the acts of being present, being positive, and being patient, and giving ourselves grace when we mess up.
It’s a process that’s going to forever evolve and grow, just like we do.
Within that, I’m excited to leave plenty of room to make messes & explore;
to try new things, get rid of heavy things, and prioritize important things.
But most of all?
I’m so, so excited that we all get to do all of this with you.
love and light and smushy stuff,