You have grown into the most independent–yet dependent–, easily pleased–yet beyond stubborn–little boy. Not a day goes by that you don’t make me laugh, cry, smile, clench my fists, beam with pride, question my sanity, and thank God for choosing me as your Ma-Ma.
Our days always start the same way. For you, it’s two bowls of “Dada’s Cereal” or Cinnamon Toast Diabetes. For me, it’s the long “huggie” you give me when I am taking you out of your high chair. I like to watch the Today Show, but you insist on watching golf. In fact, golf is the only show you will watch any time of the day.
You refuse to leave the house in anything other than your Pete the Cat blue (Nike) shoes. Whether you’re going to school, swimming with Grandma, music class, the park, Bapa’s house, church, or Honey and Pappy’s, you insist on wearing your Pete shoes.
We sing “Landon on the bus” more times in a day than I can count. The first thing you say when you wake up in the morning (and the last thing you say before you go to bed) is Landon, Emerson, Greyson, Hall, and Henry. It’s almost as if you can’t complete simple tasks without help from your cousins. “Landon on the bus says eat your blueberries,” or “Emerson on the bus says jump up and down”, or “Hall on the bus says change your diaper”. Round and round the wheels go, task after task and cousin after cousin I sing. All. Day. Long.
You like things done the same way every time. Most things, like picking between two colors for spoons in the mornings, aren’t a big deal. But letting you out of the stroller at the end of the street to touch the fire hydrant once means an additional 18 minutes for you to touch the fire hydrant and walk the rest of the way home every single day since. This also means that we have to bring the trash bin and the recycling bin to the street every Tuesday despite the fact that recycling comes every other week–because you just can’t bear to let the recycling stay behind.
You are my little helper. Related to the above, I can no longer start the washing machine myself. Or transfer the clothes to the dryer myself. Or hit the button on the Keurig for my coffee myself. Or get the mail myself. Or unload the dishwasher myself. You have duties, and I better respect them.
But your best duty is your new duty as a big brother. There is no one that you are more excited to see in the mornings than Davis, and he is the only person or thing that makes getting you up from your nap slightly tolerable. You constantly try to snuggle with him (steamroll him), kiss him (slightly bite), and rub his head (poke his eyes out), and i know it won’t be long until you teach how to throw rocks and trucks down the slide almost decapitating many of children.
Possible decapitations aside, these two years have shown me that you are the sweetest, most gentle soul there ever was. You love everyone. Nothing makes you happier than trucks and blocks and puzzles and books, other than your family. And no matter how many times I sing [Insert cousin] on the bus, it will never compare to how many times I thank God that I was chosen to be your Ma-Ma.
Happy 2nd birthday.