“Momma, come on, come on, let’s play!”
This week, more than ever, I try to be as quick to say “okay, buddy!” as I can. “What should we play!?” I try to muster up as much energy as I can for you, which is in low supplies at 40 weeks. I’m trying to say yes to all the outside requests, even though it’s 25 and icy. Yes to all the bubble baths, farm animals, and “one last minute”s of cuddles at naptimes and bedtimes.
You’ve been so excited to help get things ready for “baby sister”. You’ve been patient with me for weeks, talked to my belly, kissed it, and practiced what you’ll sing to her when she cries (“Wheels on the Bus” is what you’ve landed on). I hope I’ve got you get the teeniest bit ready for your whole little world to be invaded.
I hope you feel like you still get my attention. I hope you know I’m always listening. I hope you know that nothing, not even another baby, could ever take your place. Your special, special place as my oldest.
You’re the one who taught me how to be a momma. There’s so many things I knew I would have to teach you, but I never realized how much I would learn from you. You’ve taught me how to be patient, like really patient. You’ve helped me slow down. You’ve shown me how to just enjoy a day for what it is, that not every one has to be full of “accomplishments”. Some days it’s enough to play and just live.
And boy do you make living more fun for me and your daddy.
You’re simply incredible. I can’t believe how smart you are. Or how much empathy can come out of such a little thing. You are observant and thoughtful and playful.
I can’t say I ever imagined staying home full-time, but there is no job in the world I could have had for the last two years that would have been half as fulfilling. They always tell you how fast the baby stage goes. You’re almost 3, and I wish I could freeze you here for a few more years. I will never get tired of you asking to hold my hand or cuddle you, and my heart aches thinking of the day when you quit asking.
I know you’re going to be the best big brother, although probably a bit jealous, my little “momma’s boy”.
I promise we’ll still have special you and me time.
I promise there’ll be enough momma – just ask daddy, he had to learn to share too.
I love every part of you, my sweet, sweet boy, and I promise that’s one thing you never have to worry about changing.