Monday, September 03, 2007

Twenty-Four Months: My Letter to Little Man

Two years ago, yesterday, you came into this world. Unlike just about every mom on the planet, I can't finish that sentence with the words "screaming like a banshee" or "singing Backstreet Boys songs", because I slept through your birth. This might sound shocking to you, because really, what kind of mother sleeps through the most important moment of her first born's life? I figure you can get back at me by getting wasted and sleeping through my funeral when I die at the ripe old age of 99. That way we'll be even and people will think you're extra devastated and make you lots of food. So really, a win-win for both of us. No need to thank me.



It's still shocking to me that you've gone and turned two years old on me. I mean, seriously? Was this absolutely necessary? Wasn't my heart broken enough with your first birthday? But no, you had to go and continue growing, although I do use that term loosely, considering you are still wearing 6-9 months sized shorts and continue to work towards a career as a white rapper, with your diaper or pull up teasing the girls by peeking over the top of your shorts and pants. We all know nothing makes the girls crazier than a flash of a man's diaper.

So much has happened during the past year. You've discovered that throwing a tantrum can be an art that involves turning your legs to jello, screaming against the floor like a Sicilian widow and hitting. We've also found out that you have an underbite, which you've since embraced as a fantastic talent and now walk around with your bottom teeth pursed out and you bottom lip pulled down, so that you look a little like what I imagine the child of Brad Pitt and a hyena would ressemble. You've also discovered a love for television that definitely surpasses mine, a feat that seemed impossible before you were born, what with my super-human ability to watch any episode marathon of any MTV show.



This past month, you've somehow developed an obsession with The Mickey Mouse Club House. You'll ask repeatedly, any time we're at home for more than 8.2 seconds, "Mickey House? Okay!" At times, I'll tell you that Mickey is sleeping. And often, that will be enough to convince you that you should do something else, like torture the dog. Until you realize that there are other shows you can ask for and so you'll suddenly ask me "Jojo's Circus?" And I tell you that Jojo's pimp has beaten her up and she won't be coming out of the hospital for another week.

I assume that these kinds of statements are the reason you can watch Law & Order with us and exclaim "Oh goodness!" when the bad guy is convicted of a double murder. I'm not sure if that's your Canadian roots showing your discomfort with the idea of the death penalty, or your Texan heritage that believes that anyone in jail should be shot, just because the second amendment exists.



Milestones this month include developing an aversion to shoes. You own three pairs of shoes currently: your Nike sneakers, your Stride Rite sandals and your fake crocs, none of which you are willing to wear. Your teacher has nicknamed you the country bumpkin, because the second you can, you remove shoes and socks and proudly exclaim "pieds!", the French word for feet, like you have just been reunited with long lost friends. And then, suddenly, we had a breakthrough. I pulled out your next size up shoes, gorgeous chocolate brown suede shoes, and when you saw them, you deemed them good enough for your feet. These were the types of shoes you were born to wear, designer shoes that are meant to look good with jeans, but that you, my fashion-forward son have deemed to look extra fashionable with shorts and rompers. I told some of the other moms in your class that I felt like I should get you a sign that says "I dressed myself today," but I've now decided that this fashion faux-pas of yours advertises your single status to the ladies and hopefully, one of them can become your wife and teach you that the world will end if you leave the house dressed like this.

Your eating is now about as unpredictable as your grandmother's mood swings. You've now completely sworn off yogurt, your source of sustenance only a few months ago. You will, however, regularly eat two bananas for breakfast and regularly ask for apples as a snack. Otherwise, you drink milk and that's about it. One of the only exceptions is Mexican food, which I believe my obsession with Tabasco sauce when I was pregnant with you makes you think that we are from the land of the tortilla, as a couple of weeks ago we took you to a chain Mexican restaurant and you devoured your kids meal and even stole my refried beans and Mexican rice. Your belly's skin was so taut after that meal that I expected you to burst like a pinata if I poked you.



The other food you are willing to eat is ice cream. Every time I come to tell you it's dinner time, you look at me, and with hopeful eyes ask "ice cream?", like somehow we've made it a regular habit to eat a bowl of ice cream and call it dinner. When I tell you that there is no ice cream, I might as well tell you that our Tivo has deleted every episode of The Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and the Disney Channel will no longer be airing it. That or the world is ending, you know, something really important and bad.

You now love to tickle me and your dad. You'll run up to us with a large grin and make this weird noise that's your tickling noise, that spelled phonetically sounds like "Kahta, Kahta." Although your tickling skills still need work, your sounds are so funny, that our laughter has to lead you to think that you could win some kind of tickling competition. By the time you become a teenager, there's a good chance that tickling could become an Olympic sport, since really, it's no more a sport than badminton or table tennis, so this could very well become your thing.



Your vocabulary keeps growing exponentially. And as it does, more of your quirks come through. My two current favorite things you say incorrectly are the fact that you call Winnie the Pooh "Winnie the Poop" and anything green that you don't know the word for is "green grass." You'll regularly ask us for green grass and we have to guess which of the approximately 10 billion green things on this planet you want.

You also make me laugh every diaper change by proclaiming "Pew-wee!" when I remove the diaper, a sentiment I completely share, believe me. And the other day, when I blew my nose in front of you, you wrinkled your nose in disgust and proclaimed "thass yucky, Mama." And so it begins.

You have an amazing heart and are fiercely loyal. During the past week, I've been singing "Happy Birthday" to you to get you used to the song, and every time I've finished a rousing rendition with your name, you make me sing it again for each one of the dogs, for the cat, for Daddy, for myself and then for each one of your friends, until I tire so much of the game that I let you watch Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.



My suspicion is that you're also a brilliant man with an infinite number of tactics for getting your way.

And so with another year of adventures behind us, I can't help but wonder what the next year will hold for you. You're starting Spanish and computer lab at school, which is frightening to me that your daycare's curriculum is as advanced as my high school's was. I'm guessing that by the time you're four years old, we will no longer be able to talk about anything else than the weather, since your intellect will have surpassed mine and you'll wonder how anyone can be allowed to procreate without knowing quantum physics.



I expect that by your third birthday you'll have moved to your big boy room and be sleeping in your big boy bed. You'll probably be potty trained, since your school has already begun the process and you actually willingly sat on the potty for us today, which is so much huger than the time the Toronto Blue Jays won the world series and I got to walk up and down Yonge Street and be part of the once in a lifetime celebrations. By the time you're three, I'm thinking you'll also be working on your first novel and have mastered the perfect cheese souffle.

And the thing is? If in a year you haven't reached any of those milestones? It'll be fine with me. As long as you know how to make me the perfect gin and tonic. Because once you've got that down, the rest of life just figures itself out.



I'm so lucky to have gotten to be your Maman for the past two years. Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined that some day, the greatest accomplishment of my life would be this wild haired boy with the smile of a Hollywood star and a laugh that warms up any rainy day. You are so much cooler than I could ever dare to be. And I'm so proud of you, no matter what the world may have in store for you, and that pride, I promise you, will never, ever waver. As constant as my love for you will be, so will my pride of all your accomplishments, no matter how small. I promise that I'll be the mom who brags to all the other teenage boy moms that my son can make armpit noises way louder than their sons'. No matter how hard life might become, just know that I'll be there, on the sidelines, cheering you on.

I love you my Little Man,

Maman.

14 comments:

AnGlOpHiLe FoOtBaLl FaNaTiC said...

You know just the right things to say. And, he looked damn happy at his b-day party (in my opinion) & Sweetie D had a ball throwing the feather he found on the ground over the waterfall from the splash ground to the lagoon...the whole time we were there! Love you guys! And I hope the present had just enough battery powered obnoxiousness to make up for the one you got us!

AnGlOpHiLe FoOtBaLl FaNaTiC said...

Oh, and if you ever need illegal copies of any of these shows (seems like he gets into ones we loved four months ago..age difference exactly!...and are only mildly into now), we got your back. Have you showed him Maisy? Cause we heart that mouse like there is no tomorrow.

random_mommy said...

Those ridiculously beautiful blue eyes. They got me. Had to hold back a tear.

Happy Birthday LM!!! We miss you nuts!

my minivan is faster than yours said...

What a neat idea to do these monthly letters. Any thoughts of having them professionally bound at a certain point in time? I'm sure there days you'd like to have Little Man professionally bound!

And by professionsal, of course I mean printing them out and using a 3 hole punch and putting ribbon through the holes.

I really hope you come up with something extra special. Then I really hope you motivate me to do that myself!

AndreAnna said...

Happy Birthday!

I hate JoJo and wish her damn Lion would just eat her already. My daughter loves Higglytown Heroes and Little Einsteins, and I hate the Mickey Mouse song (hot dog, hot dog, hot diggity dog) so much, that I refuse to let her watch it, and the TV goes off at 8. :)

Very sweet letter - you really captured his personality and I hope he continues to bring you such joy and pride.

Melissa said...

Totally amazing letter as always. I agree with another commenter... these would make an amazing book to print out at some point.

PS - loved the FB post last week! You said it all.

emmainlondon said...

Happy happy 2nd birthday!

Slick said...

Now that's a good lookin' kid!

Happy Birthday to him :)

Jesse said...

Awww Happy Birthday Little Man.

Julie said...

I swear, he gets cuter with age! : )

Rachel said...

Happy Birthday Little Man (2 days late, sorry)!!!

I love the post!! And, of course, the pics!! Those eyes?? Oh, the ladies are gonna love them!

Also, he and Alyssa have a little too much in common. You know, like the temper tantrums and bossiness and such.

And the cuteness too, duh!

Susan said...

The cutest boys have underbites. Seriously.
Happy Bday Little Man!

M said...

Cod almighty these make me cry every month but this month extra much so. *sigh* You're extra lucky to have him but darn if he isn't a lucky boy to have you! xoxoxo

Blue Momma said...

He's pretty enough to be a girl! Those red lips and blue eyes! I love me a blue eyed baby boy.

And next year, write my letter, please? I asked you this year and you rejected me.

I don't know if I can handle it again....