Pickle,
You are two today. Besides purchasing your birthday present, a tiny kitchen the perfect size for you, I’ve been in denial these last few weeks.
There is so much to say about who you’ve become. A kind-hearted, gracious, perceptive little person who loves life and brings joy to many who cross your path. We genuinely enjoy hanging out with you and having you around. Except when you hit us and throw things, but lately you’ve started telling us that you’re frustrated and angry instead. And we can’t help but laugh.
Other than being taller and somewhat more coordinated than last year, the biggest change is how you express yourself and use the little vocabulary you’ve committed to memory. Some of our favorite interactions include elevator conversations with strangers (“Are you going up?” and “Have a good day!” when they get off). If we hurt ourselves or do something klutzy you either ask us, “Are you ok?” or “Why’d you do that?”
Sadly, you can say pancakes correctly now and we’re mourning the loss of hearing, “Eh-pakes, mama!” from the crib every morning. Now you tell me, “Feet on the floor, mama. In the kitchen.” (Excuse me?!) You eat pretty much everything (even the things Daddy eats that require acquired taste like sauerkraut, seaweed, and plain yogurt), but if it was up to you, you’d have cheeseburgers for every meal. We have to spell out Shake Shack if we’re thinking of going there so you aren’t incredibly cranky the rest of the day if plans fall through. We also have to spell out coffee places otherwise it’s “croissant! croissant! croissant! you wan a croissant?” on repeat. You’re incredibly particular about which dish you eat from, insist you drink from a glass, and if you have more than you can chew on your spoon, you say “too much” and return some to your bowl. It’s really important to you that we start each family meal with prayer. If we start eating on accident, you quickly remind us, “Pway? Pway?” You fold your hands, squeeze your eyes shut, and are usually thankful for specifically what you’re eating, monster trucks, Mommy and Daddy. When we indulge in a glass of wine or beer you nonchalantly acknowledge, “Dats wine… it’s for adults. Not for kids.” But sometimes you confuse what we tell you about the electrical outlets, shoot us an admonishing look and warn, “Dats beer. It’s dangerous.” Just keep thinking that through college.
About two months ago, Daddy innocently got you hooked on The Lion King “dee wee dee”. We’re a little concerned about your fascination with Scar, but Simba is your alter ego and we’re always getting corrected. “Go to sleep, Linky.” “Go to sleep, SIMBA!” You even obey more willingly if we call you Simba. You know almost all the song lyrics and we have the pleasure of hearing them all day, every day. Sometimes you’ll play quietly and softly sing, “Can you feel the yuv tonight…” perfectly on pitch. Or belt the opening African lines of Circle of Life at the top of your lungs while splashing in the tub. And I can’t even handle it. We’ve tried to get you to stop sucking your fingers by comparing you to your lion hero, who of course doesn’t suck his fingers, but no success yet.
When taking a break from Lion King songs, you often serenade us with Jesus Loves Me, You Are My Sunshine, and the alphabet song. Using your imagination more and more, you’re building trains and towers out of blocks and pretending to wash dishes while making a running water noise with your mouth. Some of your favorite books are Iggy Peck, The Grinch (it’s February and I’ve taken it out of Christmas storage multiple times because of how much you insist), I’m a Big Brother Now, Apples Up on Top, Corduroy, How Do Dinosaurs Say Goodnight, and the Bible.
Brushing your teeth is always a challenge, but tucking you in is the best. You are not a fan of your crib, but wouldn’t stay in your toddler bed either, so for now we let you fall asleep in our bed then move you to the crib. You ask us to stay next to you for a few minutes… “Next to mama?” or “Next to daddy?” And sometimes you wrap your arm around our neck or spoon with my belly and say, “Noapte buna (good night in Romanian), baby sister.”
You’re all boy – monster trucks, firetrucks, semi trucks, buses, cars, cement mixers, excavators, bulldozers, crane trucks, dump trucks, even mail trucks, dinosaurs, roaring, destroying, crashing, climbing, throwing, touchdowns, tackling, and slam dunks. But you have the most gentle spirit and an incredible soft spot for babies and animals. But when you go back to being rambunctious or impatient or whiney, sometimes I have to put myself in pausa (timeout) for speaking too harshly at you. And when I ask you to forgive me, the grace you show blows me away every time.
This stage is so perfectly summed up in one of our favorite exchanges, stolen from the last page of your well-loved book Olivia. I say, “Pickle, you wear me out but I love you anyway.” And you say, “I yuv you eh-way too.”
Happy Birthday, sweet boy.
Love,
Mama
