This face just looks like trouble. Rosy red cheeks from racing around the house. Chocolate on your mouth from the piece of candy you stole out of the snack cupboard. And one of three “super” shirts that you insist on wearing every day.
Then there’s that silly grin and those bright blue eyes. And it’s impossible to be upset with you for more than three minutes. But, oh boy, are you challenging right now. It’s your age and adjusting to baby sister and facing far too many days with temperatures in the single digits.
I don’t want to wish away the toddler years, but I do look forward to the day when you will sit still long enough to play a board game or complete a craft project. And when we can get through 24 hours without at least a dozen meltdowns.
But until then, I will smile at the the way you yell “kaboom” and “kachow” and crash your cars across the living room floor, and how you turn everything into an airplane — crayons, blocks, Nora’s binkies, Lucy’s dog bones. Your imagination and your curiosity are blossoming, and I just love it. I will remember our conversations about your “space helmet” and your “rocket ship.” And how “super Sammy” drives a “green moh-ker-set” (motorcycle).
I will laugh when you shout “I’m pooping” in the middle of Target and not feel like a bad mother as I leave the grocery store with you kicking and screaming because I wouldn’t buy the “big gummies.” (Even though I did buy the small ones.)
I want to remember how your Ls sound like Ys. “I yuv you” and “I yike that” and “One yoyyipop, pease.” And how your Fs sound like SHs. “One, two, fwee, shore, shive” and that you call your favorite car the “hot shower car” (hot fire car). The way you say “thanks” and “I don’t know” and your persistent questions: “what is it?” “where is it?” “what’s in there?” How you honestly believe there’s a bug in the boat in your bathtub. And on the one night when there really was a bug buzzing around the bathroom, you screamed and yelled “get me out of here!”
I will soak up the moments when we’re together on the couch and you say “I miss you, Mommy” and “I sit close to you.” When you squeeze my neck and rest your head on my shoulder while I sing “twinkle, twinkle little star” before bedtime. How you hold Nora’s hands and stroke her hair. How you think it’s funny when Lucy licks your face and nibbles on your arms. And how you yell “hooray, Daddy’s home!” when you hear the garage door go up.
Sometimes you surprise me with your vocabulary and your memory and your ability to express yourself. Like when you said “Mommy, your sink is dripping. Daddy fix it.” (Yes, it is dripping. And, yes, Daddy does need to fix it.) When you randomly declare “I’m happy” or “that’s funny.” And how you know which scenes come next in your favorite movies and which sentences come next in your favorite books.
You are smart. And loud and crazy. And so brave, especially when you were chosen to be part of the circus and did not shed a single tear when the entire arena was watching you do a “magic trick.” (The tears came later when your souvenir red balloon popped. Which meant Momma had to buy a $12 light-up magic wand to replace it.)
I love you, kid. I love the drama and the shenanigans and the tender moments and everything that comes along with being almost two-and-a-half.