I know most of the time we as parents talk about how crazy fast life zooms past us once we have kids. How we blinked and you went from a tiny newborn to a toddler, and then we blinked again and you were graduating from high school. In some ways it does feel like just yesterday that I rubbed my swollen belly and daydreamed about meeting you. I would say that those first two years just blew past us so fast that I barely remember what they were truly like. What it was like before you could walk and talk and throw epic tantrums.
But this last year, my sweet boy, has been a year when I felt every single day march by, sometimes in agonizingly slow increments. Our life as a family has been more chaotic and stressful than it ever has been since your father and I started it 5 years ago. Your little brother's arrival in our lives coinciding with your year of being two was not a year I fear I will be forgetting any time soon. While the storms of life washed over us again and again these past twelve months, the internal struggle of becoming your own person and all the emotional storms that accompany it, pummeled your little brain right along side the chaos of our family beginning a new journey in this special needs world.
You are growing into the little boy I used to just be able to catch glimpses of under all that adorable chunky babyness. As you walked out the door this morning on your way to your first day of preschool, I couldn't get over just how big you were. What once just used to be cute chubby calves is now miles of leg sticking out between the hem of your shorts and your socks. You had a skinned knee, multiple bruises, and stubbed toes underneath those brand new school clothes because you live life hard. You play hard, you laugh hard, you explore hard, you tantrum hard.
You run fast, laugh loud, and let your displeasure be known throughout the land. There is nothing subtle about you, my boy. You are strong and fearless.
We took you on your first amusement park rides this past summer when we were at the beach. Most of the rides were too small for us to climb in with you, so we had to just strap you in and walk away, hoping you were excited and happy, and not terrified that we'd just abandoned you to be spun around in circles while we watched and took pictures. And while I was nervously hovering by the gate opening, eyeing the emergency stop button and ready to rush in and rescue you, you were laughing with glee and grinning with pure joy as the toy cars went round and round the circle at a sedate pace.
You love the water, whether it's in the pool where you like to show off your swim class skills to the amazement of other parents, or the ocean, where I swear you would have just kept going until you reached the other side of the Atlantic if we hadn't pulled you back.
There are days when your repeated requests for "more candy" or "Hey Mama" make me long for the old days...but I am so glad (and relieved) we are making headway into your speech delays. You are doing so well that you no longer qualify as having a significant enough delay to get help. Way to go, baby.
I don't know if every child is like this, or if it's just us, but the older you get, your ability to drive me absolutely insane has increased dramatically. Little boy, you know where every single one of my buttons is located and you can punch every. single. one. in 30 seconds or less. My normally even tempered self goes into hiding and my Monster Mom side comes out and wants to drop kick you across the room. I don't know how you do it; I really don't. I don't react to another person on this planet the way I react to you.
You go beyond just pushing boundaries. You hit people when you are angry. You abuse the dog. You abuse your brother. You throw things. You knock things off the counter when you don't get your way. You do things over and over again, even when you know you'll go to time out for doing them.You hurt me. You stand right at the edge of the boundary and make sure I am looking before you cross it just as a giant EFF YOU, Mom. You purposefully kick your shoes off when I pick you up so that I have to stop and grab them before I can continue to strap you into your carseat/put you in time out/get you out of the middle of the street/etc. (More than anything else, this one thing drives me absolutely nuts. It is my parenting kryptonite. I see red every single time you do it. It makes me ridiculously angry.)
I know the year of being two is branded as being "terrible." And I get it. I get why this year is hard. You are past the stage of learning how to navigate this world physically and this new stage was and is all about learning how to navigate it socially. I get how the emotional capacity for patience and empathy can be exactly zero for a two year old. You are figuring things out and your brain is just going in hyper-speed all the time trying to assimilate it all. Just like you used to put every object you encountered, no matter how gross or covered in dog hair, into your mouth to explore, you have been working through every emotion in the book this past year. Sometimes it felt like you were going through a different chapter every other minute. It has been a crazy rollercoaster and I am so looking forward to the day when you are a little bit more...well, a little bit more rational, if I'm being perfectly honest. Rationality has been in a little scarce, especially these past few months.
It's all just part of that process that turns that squishy, floppy Luke into the man you will some day become. Obviously, I've had to become a little bit more philosophical in my approach to understanding you these days. It helps to have a better attitude when I've been at work all afternoon and you spent all morning in preschool. We got to do lunch together and goodnight snuggles. That's just about the perfect amount of time to spend with a two/three year old Luke. Anything beyond that can start to feel an awfully lot like work.
I love you, sweet boy. Happy Birthday.