Dear Little S,
One day you’ll learn to eat your vegetables. You’ll actually put them in your mouth, chew them and swallow them instead of jamming them all into the spout of your sippy cup and then crying for me to get them out. You’ll eat them instead of moving them back and forth on the table and attempting to count them.
“One, two, two, two….two. Two….two.”
One day you’ll learn to count to 7, but today, you just say two. You’ll learn that ketchup on your pancakes is disgusting and stop dipping everything you like in it. Adding ketchup to your foods doesn’t automatically make it taste better. But at least when you do that I can pretend like you’re getting a serving of vegetables from it.
One day you’ll learn that Target is not the place for tantrums. Target is my happy place and you kind of make things awkward for me when you throw yourself in the middle of the shoe aisle while I’m trying to find a pair of shoes that actually fit you. One day I’ll record you making an obscene amount of noise because I won’t give you the Cars plate and silverware set. You can yell “MAHM! GO GO! BEEP BEEP!” all you want, but one day I’ll be showing your future wife how ridiculous you were and all the stares from strangers in Target will be worth it.
One day you will sleep without waking up in the middle of the night. I won’t hear your sad cries for me from down the hall. You won’t want to come into my bed at night and sleep with your head against my chest, or restlessly toss and turn, kicking at my huge belly all night. I’ll be able to sleep again, without keeping one eye open to make sure you’re okay. You’ll sleep in your own bed after our nightly bedtime prayers and not give another thought about coming to rest in between dad and I.
One day you’ll learn to sit still. At this point, I’m shocked when I see you sitting to watch Mickey for more than 3 consecutive minutes.
You constantly run until you either:
a) run into something
b) fall down
c) run into something/someone and knock it/them down.
You’re kind of destructive. You took the nativity set your cousin Amelie was playing with and knocked every piece off the table then ran away. Like you were Godzilla, sent to destroy Amelie’s happiness. One day you’ll appreciate coloring books and puzzles instead of being entertained by chasing the cat or putting every toy you can fit into the dump truck and then dumping them all out onto the middle of the floor for me to clean up.
One day you’ll learn real words. You won’t call a pacifier a “dee-dee” or a car a “Go go”. I’m not going to lie to you son, half the time you look at me and start blabbering on with your toddler nonsense, I have NO IDEA what you’re trying to tell me. “Me dah rock de de kee” means absolutely nothing to me. I pretend like I know what you’re saying, but really I have absolutely no clue what you’re saying, so usually I just nod and say “Yeahhhhhhhhh. Okay…” until you run away and chase the cat again.
One day you’ll be too cool for me. You won’t laugh at my jokes, even though we both know I’m hilarious. You’ll stop wanting to jump on my lap and blow me kisses. You won’t lean in for a kiss every time I ask for one. And you definitely won’t always love that I call you Booger Butt.
One day you’ll be grown, but thank God that day is not today.