Dear Tristan,
There would be pictures of you in this entry, except you climbed up onto the desk, got the digital camera and took it into the kitchen where a few slams against the ceramic tile rendered it useless. But there are things that we can’t see from pictures.
A camera would never be able to capture the way you give kisses, coming in at full speed, pecking with your mouth at whatever is closest saying, “MUH!” each time. It wouldn’t capture that you can’t just give one kiss. Once you are in full motion there are several kisses all in a row. If you decide to climb down from my lap, you are giving kisses the whole way, gracing my wrist, knee and foot as you go.
A camera could never fully show how your baby hair glows golden when the sun streams through the windows of the living room and you sit quietly on the sofa watching Blue’s Clues. You have no idea how beautiful you are.
No one would ever see from a picture, how you run like there is a string pulling you forward by your belly, your arms flapping, a smile on your face, because it feels so good to move. I’ll never see from a picture how when someone else is holding you, you point to me and say, “MaMa!” in a definitive tone, like you are so proud of me.
A picture would never capture your vigorous knee-hugs. The ones where you come barreling across the kitchen throwing yourself onto my legs and if I’m not prepared for you, almost knocking me down. You are little, but getting hit in the back of the knees with 26lbs of hurling toddler is enough to make anyone wobble. Especially one, who is focused with intense concentration, on the pantry trying to determine what can be made for dinner that involves a can of Cream of Mushroom Soup, raisins and bottom of a bag of tortilla chips.
In the mornings you wake up precisely at 7:15. I pick you up, blankie and all and take you back to our bed, curling up around and pretending that you might actually go back to sleep if you see me close my eyes. You try to go back to sleep, because you know that’s what’s intended, but you got your Dad’s wake up gene instead of mine and once you are up, there’s no going back to sleep. I’ll crack one eye, because I have that unmistakable feeling that I’m being watched and find you gazing adoringly at me. It’s usually then that you decide to start unleashing kisses on my face, or exploring my nostrils with your index finger. What? Mommy doesn’t like that? How about the ear? No? Maybe the nostril again.
And that’s how I fully come awake each morning.
On rare occasions you do fall back asleep, snuggling into me with your sweet baby snore. These are the days that your brother wakes up ten minutes later yelling, “MOMMY! I NEED TO GO POTTY! RIGHT NOW!” Because why should he bother getting out of bed when he has a personal chauffer to carry him? I get up and take him to the potty and then pull him into bed with us. Sometimes you and he snuggle up together, tangled in a mess of blankets and the four hundred pillows we keep on the bed. It’s on these days that we lay there like a pile of puppies and I hope that warmth stays with me through the rest of my winters.
I love you,
MaMa!
No comments:
Post a Comment