Dear Roper,
Today you are 30 months old. Two and a half. To the rest of the world, you are two because the rest of the world doesn’t measure things in months and halve-sies. But I remember when you were first born and we were counting your life by breaths, then minutes, and finally by hours as you healed from your resuscitation and the hole in your lung.
Your strength has always amazed me
So, today is your half birthday and I intend to celebrate. Especially since it’s also your cousin’s birthday and Dr. Seuss’ birthday. ICE CREAM!!
Little Bear, you are good company. You have an amazing sense of humor and are overflowing with personality. You engage people – complete strangers – at a level that still startles me.
Sometimes you make me burst out in laughter despite my best efforts to look stern. Recently, you’ve been testing out different facial expressions and hand gestures to go along with your quirky little jokes. It has me ROLLING in the car. You are the king of sound effects and weird head movements.
You call me dude.
You are also very thoughtful. You ask where the moon goes during the day. And if we can’t see the moon at night you ask “Is the crescent moon hiding behind its blankets? Where did it go?” You pick up on people’s emotions and want to know what causes them. You give me back rubs.
Little Bear, your adventurous spirit is still running strong. You’ve become an impressive little biker – going off curbs, riding through the snow, trying out little jumps and obstacles. We took you to arena cross and you loved the monster truck ride. You went snowshoeing, are on a soccer team and adore helping your dad up at the property. You and I have guitar jam sessions in the morning. We suck and it’s awesome.
When I peek in your crib at you at night to admire you in your darling footed pajamas with your soft white hair, cherubic cheeks and pouty lips, I watch you breathe. It’s amazing to see you so STILL. It’s an abnormal state. And then I whisper, “Goodnight, Little Bear” and you, without opening your eyes, belch out “Night, Mom” in a surly tone, as you sigh and throw your arm over your eyes.
It’s puzzling. You usually have the sweetest little voice. Sometimes, in the morning, you sing little songs in your crib and it melts my heart. Your voice is like cotton candy and easter chicks wrapped in soft blankets. Until you want my attention. “MOM! I’M READY TO GET OUT!” You holler in a booming voice. I come into your room expecting to find a 6-foot-tall, hairy man-child straining the seams of adult-size footed pajamas crammed in your crib.
Honestly, I can’t wait to see what you’re going to be like when you turn into that surly teenager. But I’m enjoying every second getting to that point.
We love you, Little Bear. More than you’ll ever comprehend….until you have your own little critter who shouts “I toot-tooted out of my bum-bum” and laughs hysterically until he can’t breathe. Then you might know.
Love,
Your Mama
Molly Flew the Coop 