Here are the stats: you weigh 23 lbs, and are 33 1/4 inches tall. You have seen 730 days and nights. Your eyes are blue like Daddy’s, and your hair is blond like Uncle Jeff’s, and curly like mine. Your Bear is your best friend.
You love music class. Whenever I sing a song from class, you proclaim, “Mary Anne sing that song!” Whenever you pretend to leave or drive your car, we ask you where you’re doing, and the response is always, “Music class.” The other day you were blowing on the edge of a play plate, and explained, “Mary Anne does”–you were imitating Mary Anne blowing on her pitch pipe.
Your favorite aspect of music class is the drumming. You sing “Hey Ya Na” several times a day, and you get the syllables and rhythm. You drum on everything: the sink as we wash hands, the couch, the upended strainer, the floor, the stairs. Once, a dad at the Zoomazium told me after watching you, “He has better rhythm than most adults I know.”
You love the Superman theme song. I taught you how to say, “Hi SuperDad” when Daddy gets home from work, and he taught you to sing “SuperMom” to the theme song tune.
You need me a lot these days: your little voice’s “Mama, Mama, Mama,” I hear at the gate when I go upstairs, or at the park if you can’t see me. “Up up up up” many times a day. When you are hurt, you ask for me. At the playground you grab my finger in your fist and lead me from activity to activity. You are figuring out your boundaries, what scares you, what you can conquer. I love watching you discover your comfort zone, and then test it, and discover a new one.
You love saying “Terrible cough” because that’s what Nana says, or “oopsie boomie” because it’s what Grandpa says.
You count at least to sixteen, and recognize numbers 1-10 everywhere: on cash registers, elevators, street signs, gas pumps.
You love to read, and have memorized large chunks of The Lorax and other books. You can even “read” to yourself, saying key phrases using the intonation that we use when we read to you.
You continue to be obsessed with things that spin–ceiling fans, merry-go-rounds, pinwheels–and things with buttons, primarily elevators. Your favorite thing at the aquarium: watching the Giant Wheel from the windows. Your favorite thing at the beach: watching the train go by.
You love to giggle, and we have convinced you that the cure for hiccups is tickling. You find random words or sounds hilarious: a quick “sh,” or the way Jillian says “all the way tothetop.”
You love the backyard and the shovels in the dirt box, but prefer to climb up and down the stairs, on and off chairs and benches, and trying to turn the crank on the deck umbrella. You love bouncy balls.
You run everywhere, often looking at the ground in front of you instead of what you could be running into. You are getting fast.
You do a good job of stating when you are “mad,” sometimes even “frustrated,” and you usually exercise an appropriate outlet for your feelings: stomping feet, yelling, drumming on inanimate objects. Today you said, “Jamie happy,” which may have been directed at the peanut sauce but warmed my heart.
You are focused, intent. You love to learn how things work.
I love you more than you can know.