Someday

Someday, Spencer, someone is going to ask me what you were like as a toddler.  It probably won't be you because most boys I know aren't very interested in that sort of thing as it pertains to themselves.  However, IF you happen to be the exception to the rule or IF, more likely, you have a sweet wife who has a little toddler and is puzzled as to his or her unique behavior, I will have this to pass along.

As an "almost" and "just-turned" two year old, you have some favorite activities that include throwing all the pillows off of my bed or off of the bench by the bed or off of the stool in the corner of the room--anything that involves heaving them off of something onto the floor.  We do tell you not to do this.  It seems to fuel your resolve to do it more often and more vigorously.

You also love to run behind, between, and beneath all of the large loropetalum bushes in the flower bed. You love to pull of your socks and any and all sofa cushions.  You LOVE to be chased.  You love it so much that I frequently feel guilty for not chasing you more.  You recently started playing with some Mega Bloks, and you love to stack them up.  You hate it if all of their corners and edges are not in perfect alignment.

"Don't think of it as having my feet on the table.  Think of it as me taking off my socks.  That was just the only way to do  it."

"What?  It's not hard to eat like this!"

You love music.  You sing as much as you are able with any and all of your movies.  That's the number one motivator for you as far as trying to say new words goes.  You add a few "song" words every week.  For a couple of months, you'd sing along with the WonderPets song whenever they'd say "Team work!"  You'd say, "Teeee."  But, last week you decided to add a second syllable.  Now it's more like, "Teee (long pause) mock!"  It's also comforting to me that you do in fact hear the difference between the noises you are making and the actual correct pronunciation of a word.  Sometimes I start to wonder...

Not only do you show off your language skills when there's music (WITH big-eyed cartoon characters singing, dancing, and zooming to it), you are fascinated and delighted with the concept of pitch.  It's hilarious.  Many "Little Einstein's" episodes and some "Dora"'s elaborate on whether a note is high or low.  You are captivated by the discussion.  You grin so big and usually burst into giggles at some point of the discourse.  You love it when they say, "HIGH HIGH, low low..." and so forth.  We play high and low C's on the piano sometimes and you think that's really fun.  We're all very interested to see if this is something that's fun for now or something that will actually keep your attention for later.  You just might be a music lover.

One night after your Papa Kurt witnessed your affinity for all things music, he texted me that he thought you were going to be a musical prodigy.  I read the text to your father, and his exact words were, "Yeah, that or a professional wrestler."  That's how bouncing off the walls, tossing yourself off of furniture, dive-bombing anyone and anything you can be these days.  We'll see who's right.  Someday.

A doctor lover, you are not.  And, to be completely honest, no one blames you right now.  We haven't told you that Papa Kurt is a doctor.  Better that you find out later after you've gained some perspective.  Even lower on your list of "fav's" are nurses--and, again, you've never seen your Gigi in her scrubs and we plan on keeping it that way, at least for now.  And at the complete bottom of the totem pole would be the lab people, aka, blood drawers.  To be fair, from any sampling of adults, you'd get only sympathetic responses with your current stance on blood work.  All in all we are fervently praying that after ten more days on a very strong, side-effect-laden, horrible tasting, but completely invaluable antibiotic, you'll be all better.  Maybe even in time for Christmas.  We miss your fun-loving personality.  It comes out every now and then; but I can tell you don't feel great.  You point to your eyes and tell me about them hurting--you do the same thing with your head.  You're fatigued BUT gaining weight.  We're so hoping for the best possible outcome.

Above all else, you probably have no greater love than that which you feel for your pacifier.  At your 2 year old "well-visit" (for which you were not "well"), the pediatrician said we needed to get rid of it.  I told her that I will not be taking it away from you when you feel horrible.  She seemed ok with that, but pushed me to commit to taking it away once you are feeling better.  If you're totally well in the near-future, we'll work on it.  That just feels like a really big "If."  So, if it ever comes up in counseling--your rigid, perfectionistic mother, stealing your ONLY attachment object at the ripe old age of two--just know that the doctor made me do it.

Eating Cheezits in Sunday School whilst holding your "pass."

Also know that you are one of God's greatest blessings in my life to date.  I love you so much, and I show it so imperfectly most days.  Thanks for hanging in there with me--unfortunately I know all too well that "that's what first-borns are for"--you're doing a great job.