Dear Ian,
Its been three years now, since you joined our family. And hooo boy, where do I start? We've watched you go from being a sack of potatoes, to rolling, crawling, scooting, standing, pushing, walking, running, climbing. One day you were just a little guy pushing around your trike to a big boy, riding a trike (well, okay. You sit on it. You push the pedals only so far and then steer into parked cars- don't worry. Soon enough you will be pedaling like a champ, making ramps out of random pieces of plywood you steal from construction sites and start jumping over your little brother just like Evel Knevil.)
What can I say. We had no idea how empty our lives were..no. wait! Not empty. But how much free time we had! My goodness. If only we knew what we were in for, we would have planned better. All those half completed do-it-yourself projects would have been done. But now. Well, now they don't seem so important. The house is more rustic that way. Rustic is in vogue. Shabby chic. Its our style. Mainly because there are more important things to do. Like read books about dinosaurs and little Chinese boys and the alphabet and about bunnies and counting and Curious George. There are trains to play with and lego things to build!
Now our time is better spent with you (and your little brother). It is spent laughing at silly things, and learning how to pee in the potty (well, sure if you want to spell your name in the toilet go for it, but just wait until winter, when it snows! Spelling your name is far more satisfying then) and saying please and thank you. And giving mommy a kiss when she is laying on the couch because her head is killing her; and you offer her a kiss. All by yourself. With no prompting from anyone. Its sharing our toys with your little brother ("but not the cars," you say. "they have little parts. Could hurt Alex") Its tantrums and not wanting to eat your dinner or take a bath or go to bed.
Its about hearing our own words coming back to us, in your voice:
"No goofing off"
"Five more minutes"
"Its a big honkin' poo!!" (yes, we are slightly obssessed with our bowels)
"I don't wanna get smooshed by a car"
"First things first"
"what do you say when you burp Ian?"- "Cockadoodledooooo!" (For the record, we did not teach him that, he thought that one up on his own. To which Andy snorted water up his nose and almost drowned laughing)
Its about time. And how it seems to be moving too fast. How our baby has become a little boy and how it won't stop. When you were just a wee baby, strangers would come up to me and coo at you. There would always be one (and always a woman) who would say, Enjoy this time with your baby!! I would always resist the urge to slap them because I hated that phrase "enjoy this time with your baby". It rubbed me the wrong way. Maybe because I was tired and felt out of my element most of the time. Babies? What did I know of babies. Nothing. There is no owner's manual. They just pop out - fine, they don't just "pop" out. But once they are out, there they are. Looking at you for guidance and care and feeding and being fussy and crying and seeming to not notice you at all.
But looking back, I think I know what those women were trying to say. I'm not sure there is even a good word for it. One day our little bald, drooling, chubby person smiled at us, that toothless pure joy of a smile and it was then, we finally understood.
So Ian, while you are now three and struggling to be your own person, be independent of mommy and daddy; we will never forget that first smile, that first laugh.
Happy birthday little man!!
Party on dudes!
