Twenty-Seven Months

Here we are, baby boy. On the cusp of a new arrival to our family. People have often asked lately how you are dealing with the idea of a new baby joining us. I don't really know how to answer that. On one hand, you ask me almost every day, "Baby coming soon?" On the other hand, you frequently toss your hand-me down Cabbage Patch baby onto the ground and run over her with your digger. We've tried to read you lots of books about new babies, and you've quickly grasped the concept that babies sleep and eat, a lot. So, consequently, your Cabbage Patch baby is often quickly dispatched to the baby's crib anytime you see her laying around under your fire truck. Either that or you are barking at me to "give baby milk". That poor Cabbage Patch. Relegated to a life of either sitting under heavy machinery, sitting alone in the dark, or having you shove a sippy cup in her eye. Let's hope the "be gentle" lesson we are working on catches on in pretty short order.


I'm still amazed how each month you continue to surprise us with new things. An ability to put puzzles together after you see them just once, your new-found love of sushi in all forms, your rapidly expanding vocabulary that now includes "workerman working hard" and "Jackie throw ball for Theo" and "I don't want it, doooon't waaaaannnttt iiiitt." You are keenly observant and always listening, particularly when I wish you were not. I think that is the conundrum of living with a two-year old - you don't seem to hear what I want you to hear, but miraculously hear every little inappropriate word I wish you did not. Next time I tell your Dad I spent the day "buying a lot of crap", I'll try to make sure you aren't standing beside me. I can hardly wait until our next trip to Rona when you declare "Jackie buy crap." I will be so proud.


I've thought often how life will be like once your Dad and I need to start splitting our attention between two children. I worry about you. I worry you won't feel as special. I worry you won't understand we love you just as much as ever. I worry, Jack. But I also know you will come to see the world differently, and probably in a much more wonderful way. You will be the big brother. And with that comes responsibilities, yes. But I don't want you to be too responsible. Not yet. You are still a baby yourself. And you always will be to me. You'll always be that energetic, crazy little blond, duck-walking nut I want to protect, to cuddle, to sit with at 3AM because I love how you rest your sleepy head on my shoulder. I truly believe that we as a family have much love to give, and your love is part of all we have to offer a new member of our family. You are going to be the best big brother. As long as we hide the digger.

All my love,
Your Big Momma