Last Tuesday you turned two-years-old. I'm lucky that your actual birth date doesn't mean much to you yet, as I spent the day in bed with the stomach flu. I barely saw you on your birthday this year. However, in what can only be described as a birthday miracle, you are the lone family member in the house who did not succumb to a horrid stomach bug. You get every cold that comes within twenty miles, but this is the second stomach bug you've avoided this winter - you must have some kind of intestinal immunity. And now that I've typed that you'll probably wake up vomiting before morning...
This weekend our family came together to celebrate another milestone in your life. You woke from your nap to find a house full of visitors, a pile of presents, and a car cake waiting for you. You were not happy that you weren't allowed to take the cars off your cake. Sorry buddy.
You are a man of few words, something we are getting around to addressing, but you use the words you have effectively. When opening gifts for example, you'd tear the paper like a pro, blow a kiss (your interpretation of the sign for thank you) to the gift giver when prompted, and then look up and say, "Mow?" (More?). It wasn't a greedy more, I don't think you cared a whole lot about the gifts when you opened them, you just loved tearing the paper. I was very impressed at the skills you'd retained since Christmas.
"Mow" is one of your clearest words, and most often used. You also say mama, dada, nana, papaw (Harper), wawa (water), and babow (ball). Aside from "mow," you are a fan of two-syllable words.
When you started to say "mow" you mostly used it to request more food. You ate and ate and ate until your stomach pressed against the tray on your booster seat. Your appetite has waned some lately, but you still to request more of things. Usually more books or more water running into your bath (playing with the running water is your favorite part). And tonight, as I was leaving for an appointment, you employed the best yet use of the word more. I came over to kiss your chubby cheeks goodbye and as I pulled away you looked up and said, "Mow!" and made a kissing noise with your lips. More kisses? Of course I obliged.
Back in January I started a long term subbing job and I'm working full time. Which means you are in full time daycare. I will admit that it does bother me in some ways, that you spend so much of your day away from me, and I away from you. It really isn't how I thought things would go and yet this opportunity seemed like a good thing for all of us. You like being at daycare, you like other kids to play with, and you like the different toys and songs and stories. You are happy there and you are happy to be picked up at the end of the day. You're cranky at dinner time, but that was your cranky time of day, even before daycare.
The best part of my day is the look that crosses your face when you realize I've arrived to pick you up - you drop whatever you are doing (literally) and run to me, often knocking other children out of the way in the process. You like to pick up the yellow paper, the paper with your daily activities recorded on it, and point to it, babbling away as though you know it is some sort of road map of your day and is very important to me.
You've always been the snugglier of the children in this home. That's still true, despite the fact that you do more running than snuggling these days, which is exactly as it should be, but I still love the moments when you collapse into my lap and lay your head back on my shoulder.
I'm trying to give you a snapshot of yourself at two years old and it suddenly feels like some kind of report, which is not exactly what I intended...
You're a miracle Michael. You are a delight. My heart gets bigger every day I know you. I just don't have the words yet, to express what being your mother means to me, how it has changed me. I am so thankful.
I love you.