Just yesterday as I listened to you scream again – but this time about which show you wanted to watch before nap, which resulted in no show because I am mean like that – I tried to remind myself what a true miracle you are. Because frankly, you are difficult. And not difficult in an ‘oh she is two and this is typical behavior kind of way’ – but in a seriously you have not stopped screaming at me since you were born kind of way. I remember those letters I wrote to you in the past and everyone was ‘oh she will grow out of it’ – but you haven’t and now I wonder why those people don’t come over and buy me a pony. Because I deserve a pony for raising you. And wine. More wine. Not for my pony though. Drunk ponies are never funny.
And it’s not that you are naughty or have bad behavior or I worry about your future – you just take every emotion you have and times it by 100 and let us know that is how you are feeling with such fierce determination we pause and wonder how such a little body can hold that much inside. I worry for your future boyfriends. And for when you reach puberty. Because when you are mad – oh my word let’s just stop time for five hours while you deal with it. When you are sad – the cry, oh the cry – I think you should have a career on stage…but the love…
When you are happy and like me for awhile – the hugs. Oh the hugs. You reach around my neck and put your lips on mine 45 times while squeezing me tighter and asking if I popped yet from your squeezes and in between kisses you say “oh I love you – oh I love you too – oh mama – oh mama – oh I love you.”
And I melt and forget that two hours ago you had me in tears because I gave you the wrong lunch. The lunch that you requested. And yes I do use the word requested with you because baby talk drives me mad. amen.
You are at your happiest when you can sit on my lap – or Eloise’s lap – suck your thumb(oh egads what am I going to do about that) rub your blankies against your face and just exhale and relax. You can sit there for hours.
But then I think a north wind blows and something is a buzz kill and you start to yell at all of us again.
Esther says you are going to end up in ‘Baby Jail.” Pretty sure there is not such a place. But maybe there is and I just don’t know about it because my other two babies were really nice.
You are wickedly smart and I don’t know if it’s a third child thing and what you soak in from four other people is frighteningly amazing – as it’s not like I have the time to sit down and do anything with you like I did with your sisters – but by 18 months you knew your colors and shapes and even obscure ones like lavender and turquoise – and an oval and a heart. You could recognize landmarks from your seat in the car as we drove by and your sister’s are like ‘how does she know what that is – or how does she know that is Elena’s house as we’ve only been there once before?’ It’s a powerful thing – knowledge plus the drive and incredible emotions you have. Somehow we need to figure out how you will use them for good and not evil because I worry you will be a terror to your sisters during their teenage years and we’ve now stopped watching Ramona and Beezus. You truly don’t need anymore ideas.
Even so, no four people could love you more. I waffle between wondering if you are spoiled having pretty much four people caring for you – or if this is just the perfect love, and with your spirited personality – this is what you truly need. Because you are too much for just me. And I do believe you will continue to be that way. Thankfully.
As no one will ever get in your way of your huge and beautiful goals for life. And don’t let them. Just remember to do it kindly and with compassion and love. Say please and thank you more, and don’t take the last popsicle.ever. And if you hurt their feelings – remember to just give them a big hug, a big wet kiss and let them know that you love them – then they won’t notice that you also took their last crayon, colored on their pages, and knocked down their tower. Because I know you will. Thank goodness you are also a fast runner.
Happy Second Birthday, dear Astrid. You could not be more loved. Even when you act like I ruined your life. Or give you the wrong cereal.