Lest one think that it’s all roses and unicorns over here, I just had to post about an epic meltdown that is in the works as I type. It’s not really Griffin’s fault: He was woken from a deep sleep by a tornado siren this afternoon (Did you know it’s Severe Weather Awareness Week?), which, admittedly, is perplexing when it happens to adults. But this meltdown has had no end in sight. First we rocked and snuggled. No comfort. Then he requested we go into Mommy’s bed. Hysteria. Then a request to read. Hyperventilating. Then a request for medicine. No dice. Then a request for water, food,…etc. I have finally just left him in his bed to hopefully fall back asleep, or at least calm down slightly.This may be one time where my immediate presence is not helpful in the least. Feeling a bit like a rookie again!
I can’t believe it’s been so long since I wrote you a letter, but I guess in all the busyness of this past year, I’ve let it slip through the cracks. We moved from California to Minnesota, Daddy has a new job, we bought a new house, and now you are two. I have been looking at pictures and videos of our last two years together and you’re already a world away from where you were as an infant…maybe even an entire solar system. I expected you to change, but I just didn’t know what it would look like. You surprise and delight me every day!
I thought you might like to know what you’ve been up to lately: You love to jump (with both feet! You just learned and are quite proud of yourself), run, and climb. Your main way of communicating is with words, saying things I sometimes understand, but more often have to decipher with context clues. One of your favorite activities is still sitting down with a book, which delights both your dad and me, and we’ve moved beyond board books to actual stories that you are often very engaged in. You want to do things by yourself, oftentimes pushing my helping hand away saying, “Griffin! Griffin!” which means “I can do it myself.” And you can. You can do an enormous amount of things yourself: drink from a cup, eat with a spoon, identify objects, shapes, and colors, entertain yourself with puzzles or trains, climb up into your booster chair, sing, climb up and down the stairs, build a tower with Legos, to name just a few. You wave at everyone and say, “Hi!” in the sweetest, friendliest voice, as if you’ve known complete strangers your whole life. You wave goodbye to everyone and everything: “Bye-bye Daddy! Bye-bye football! Bye-bye pants! Bye-bye phone!” You love taking baths. When I open up the medicine cabinet you point to the “tye-lo-lo-lo-lo-nol” (tylenol) or ask for a “car-bib” (car band aid) for your forehead. You love being tickled and chased. Our nightly bedtime routine involves you saying, “Mommy chase! Daddy chase!” and one of us will chase you up the stairs as you squeal with anticipation of being caught. Now that it’s warmer, you want to be outside ALL of the time to explore, throw rocks, dig in the sand, and look at the “tooo-lips”. You’ve even taken an interest in the “pee-pee potty” and wearing underwear, which you really like. What you like even more is taking off the underwear, running around giggling and yelling, “NAKED!!!”
You really are one happy kid. Don’t get me wrong: you have your tantrums and frustrations, but in general, you really seem to love life. Along with this passion for living comes an immensely cuddly and affectionate personality. You give kisses and hugs, many times without a request. I hope this lasts forever, but know there will probably be a time when it will be icky to get a kiss from your mom and embarrassing to be hugged by your dad. It’s hard to imagine you older, though, so I’m just enjoying where you’re at now and savoring as much as I can. We are in a good groove these days, you and I, and life is sweet.
I don’t know when you’re actually going to read this letter. Will it be when you’re 10? 13? 18? 21? This may be hard for you to believe, but you aren’t the only one who has been changing. My heart has grown by a whole solar system since you were born, too. I love you so deeply, it’s really difficult for me to even describe it. Do you know that now as you’re reading this as a “big kid?” It’s probably hard to imagine me as a person before I was your mom, but I was. I lived an entire 32 years before you were in my life and have had many people and experiences that have made my heart grow with love, including your dad, who made it (and continues to make it) grow immensely. But you have made it grow in a different way, and in a way I could not have expected. And I thank you for that.
So happy birthday, my two year old! I do not know what the future will bring, but I do know that I live each day being thankful for you and that I get to be your mom.