Thursday, January 2, 2014

Dear Boy (2 years old - Happy Birthday)

Dear Boy,

It's your birthday, my sweet little man. There have been presents (but really, what are presents to you after weeks of gift-giving as we toured the family estates through December) and tonight there will be cake. Oh yes, there will be cake. There were cake and presents over the last week or two as well as we celebrated early but there must also be cake on your actual birthday. I can't actually believe it's actual birthday already.

Where have these two years gone?

On the plane ride home to Melbourne yesterday your Dad and I marvelled at the stream of tiny babies making their way through the airport in their parents arms, not believing you were ever that small. In some ways it feels like just a few months, a few weeks, a few days since you were so small.

These last few months have been incredible in terms of your growth, your development, your milestones, your knowledge and the sweet little heart you've shown the world.

You have shaken hands with loved ones and strangers and pronounced your name to them over and over until it became a game. You have rumbled and rolled and chased a handful of dogs all much bigger and smaller than you, sticking your fingers in the mouth of the muscled staffy, and trying very hard to be gentle with little Vinnie. You have barreled in and out of the ocean, sinking down under the waves and emerging again in a daze of sea salt and snot.

My Dear Boy, you have laughed, oh my goodness, how you've laughed. And you've sung, sweet songs emerging from the back seat as we drive or softly from the lounge room as you play - 'Jingle Bells' and 'Wheels on the Bus' and the 'ABC Song' and 'Jet Plane'. You have danced, to 'Open, Shut Them' and Lady Gaga, and your own little cock-armed driving motion. And you have started to imagine, wandering into the world of story-telling and make-believe as you zoom cars and trains across the coffee table or sprawled across the floor. Your toys go to school and climb up mountains and ride in jet planes. They kiss and they love and they get cross. Last night, as you were going to bed, you whispered "I'm a queen in the darkness".

You are running faster and falling far less often than before. You've thrown a ball (and your toys). You've climbed onto beds and chairs and tables and ledges, and slid down from heights where previously you called for help. Your last set of teeth are emerging - the dreaded two-year old molars - but you're still sunshine with a chance of whingy rather than stormy periods or frequent showers (of drool). There are faux tantrums and bursts of "this is a disaster" and "this is impossible". But I am blaming the Wise Old Elf rather than your disposition.

You are becoming ever fussier with your foods but more open to trying something new. It may not get into your mouth, but you're willing to pick it up to bring it close to your face and examine it, to poke out your tongue and lick before you discard it with a grimace. That's progress. So is the fact you're eating bacon. And pinenuts. And haloumi. And cucumber. And the ever-present corn. I am also perfectly happy to keep feeding you frozen peas, to keep you thinking they are lollies. And if you refuse water then ice-cubes will do. If we have them.

Everyone we have met in the last few weeks has been taken with you. They ask me if you are always so good, so happy, so easy-going. I tell them "mostly". You have your moments, my Dear Boy, but they are fleeting. Mostly, you are a joy. Mostly, you are a source of merriment and amazement. But always, you are my heart.

All my love,

Your Mum. xx

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