letters to my sons : november 2013
This is the second in a year long series of letters to my sons. Next in the circle is Jill Cassara — please visit her site after mine to travel along the full circle.
G, it’s your turn.
You are 16 months old now. I still think of you as a baby, even though you’re firmly in toddler territory. I’m just not willing to call you anything other than my baby.
You’re a charmer. I get stopped daily (seriously, daily) by people commenting on your personality. It shines. You give out smiles freely and will flirt with anyone who stops long enough to say hello. Or goodbye. You very enthusiastically say, “bye!” and wave with your whole body when anyone turns the other way. It’s hard to leave a farewell like that.
You’re very opinionated, just like your brother, but you’re so different, too. Where he is cautious and focused, you’re rambunctious and adventurous. If there’s something that can be climbed, you’re on it. When you hear a beat, you dance. It doesn’t matter if it’s coming from a commercial, an elevator, or even someone humming, if you hear music, you dance. You’re independent. If I don’t lock our front door, you’ll push it open and head out on your own. One time, N and I decided to let you go, just to see what would happen. We followed you all the way to the park – you didn’t look back until you made it there. Then you turned around, gave us one of your scrunched up smiles, and ran off to the swings.
There’s so much to love about you, but one thing I don’t love quite as much – you’re an awful sleeper. I know someday you’ll be a teenager, and I’ll struggle to get you out of bed at a reasonable hour. I cling to that thought every morning as we’re playing together at 5:15 am. Just now, as I was typing this at midnight, you woke up and decided you wanted to have a party.
We are not having a party. (Though your smile almost convinced me.)
There are still many days that I’m amazed that that you’re here. There was a period of time when I thought maybe a second child wasn’t meant to be. You didn’t come easily to us. But you were worth every shot, every tear, every rough day, because out of those tough times came your infectious smile.
I am so incredibly thankful that you’re a part of our family.
Up next, read what the very talented Jill Cassara has to say to her son.