On the eve of your second birthday, I snuggle next to you as
your eyes flutter open and shut. A smile dances across your face, one that is an echo of
my own, grinning at you as you wrestle to find the comfortable position to rest your small
body in. I am putting you to sleep for the seven hundred and twenty-ninth time.
My fingers itch to capture this moment, and thirty others crash around my mind
simultaneously. Your life has been a wave—constant, growing and cresting, and
vastly cherished by me. And so, for your birthday gift, I will chronicle some
of the things you can do, and have done in the past few months.
1. You talk! Sure, it’s not always complete or
correct, but my mommy brain is conveniently fitted with a translator. I know
what a sigh-coh, mee-nah, and waddit are. I’ve seen you switch from one word
sentences (dog was your favorite), to multiple words. “A dump, eh ickies” when
you are speaking of your favorite machine, a garbage truck. “A dino fall down”
when you recall with heartfelt sadness, the moment in the Minions movie when
the T-Rex falls into the lava. We watched it two weeks ago, once. You know how
to say what you feel, from “owie! Kiss it!” to "no like it, Mommy” to “I wov you too.” My heart quickens as you say each of
these, and even in your frustration I cannot help but smile at your early
tellings of your emotions. As you get older, it is becoming painfully clearer
to me that you are your own person, with your own emotions, which I have no
control over. Thank you for reminding me.
2. You are fiercely independent. While you still
cry when I leave the room sometimes (I will remind you of this in fourteen
years), you are the classic independent toddler. You wish to put on your
Converse, with laces and all, by yourself. You shout “Aya do it!” over and over,
and despite my attempts to talk you out of it, you insist on trying it
yourself. Two minutes later, hopelessly unshoed, you shuffle over and meekly
ask for help. You taught me that independence is not necessarily doing
everything for yourself, but knowing when you need help, and being humble
enough to ask for it.
3. You love any kind of animal. Really, any kind. We were at the park this week, and you were toddling between the splash pad and the swings, when you saw it. A seagull! It was picking through the garbage about 100 feet away. “A see, eh crow!” you shouted gleefully. I hadn’t even noticed the bird. You notice all the birds. One time this winter, you spotted a dog at the other end of the park at dusk, barely discernible through the trees, and shouted “doggy!!!” so enthusiastically that I knew it was mere feet away from us. Turning, I saw nothing and said to you “you see a doggy? Where? Mommy doesn’t see one.” You pointed, and a few long seconds later, I made out the shadowy figure. You have a gift, sweetie. You make people notice things that they hadn’t seen before.
3. You love any kind of animal. Really, any kind. We were at the park this week, and you were toddling between the splash pad and the swings, when you saw it. A seagull! It was picking through the garbage about 100 feet away. “A see, eh crow!” you shouted gleefully. I hadn’t even noticed the bird. You notice all the birds. One time this winter, you spotted a dog at the other end of the park at dusk, barely discernible through the trees, and shouted “doggy!!!” so enthusiastically that I knew it was mere feet away from us. Turning, I saw nothing and said to you “you see a doggy? Where? Mommy doesn’t see one.” You pointed, and a few long seconds later, I made out the shadowy figure. You have a gift, sweetie. You make people notice things that they hadn’t seen before.
4. You get mad. Sometimes you get so angry, that
all you can do is shout “no!” and hit whatever or whoever just made you upset.
You know that you aren’t supposed to hit, but I can tell you just lost control.
You are so overwhelmed by this torrential rage, it takes control of your brain,
straining muscle and overheating your forehead. Later, after you’ve laid down
on the carpet heaving for a few minutes (and maybe kicking the ground in
release), you come to me. You say “sowwy mommy” in the sweetest remorseful
voice I have ever heard, and you kiss and hug me gently. After we talk, we go
back to playing, or reading, or singing. I realize that you’ve helped me
remember that big emotions happen. We eventually learn to control them or deal
with them appropriately, but they still come.
5. You cannot go a day, or hour, without reading a
book. Tonight, when I returned from an overnight trip for work, you ran and
hugged me, settled in my lap, and looked up expectantly at my face. With your
cheeky grin to help persuade me, you asked “a read, eh book?” As you climbed
down from my lap and ran to get one of your favorites (a book about, you
guessed it, animals!), I smile as I think of years to come, and how many books
we will share. You will learn to read independently from me, but I know you
still will share your excitement. Tonight we read five books in the span of ten
minutes, each producing its own questions, its own wonders and delights. You
are so enthusiastic about reading your books, you can hardly contain your voice
as I read about animals we may see in our neighborhood. I have not been reading as much, which is out
of character for me. My love of reading is just as wild, and now I know I must
not let it fall out of habit.
So there you have it. In the last few months, you have grown
incredibly, love; so much so that your Nana and Papa marvel at your new abilities
when they come to visit us. But beyond that, you have affected your mother. You have reminded me, taught me, showed me, and reflected my own life in yours. Thank you, I love you, my sweet two year old Helen.
