That’s what you call yourself these days, Simey. You say, “Oh, Simey!” when you fall down, or when you’re trying to try on our shoes and can’t quite get them right. You are 22 months old. At the park the other day, a dad approached Gabe and guessed you were about to turn three. THREE! That’s because you are a giant. Your little fat rolls have melted and the creases in your legs are almost completely gone. I chase you and tickle the insides of your thighs and give you zerberts there because I don’t want those tiny creases to go away. Those are the last bits of baby you have, and I fear they’ll be gone before I know it.
You are starting to speak in complete sentences, or questions more often than not. “Where’d dad go?” “Where’d mommy go?” “I want it.” “Simey have it.” “Go sit, doggie.” It’s amazing what you’ve learned already. You can count to ten. You know the whole alphabet and try your hardest to sign the letters to show people. You say EWWWWW when you get anything on your hands or feet. We went puddle jumping the other day after a big scary storm and you were all EWWWW about the little pieces of grass stuck between your toes. You stayed out on the porch with daddy during the storm, while I yelled from behind the screen door, “GET IN HERE NOW!~” to both of you. Your dad just smiled at me in his “You’re being unreasonable” way, and you laughed and laughed and cried “Uh-OH!” every time a leaf would end up on the porch. You thought the rain was hilarious and kept holding your hand out into the monsoon yelling “Rain! Rain!” I just stayed on the other side of the screen and imagined how awful I would feel when you both were struck by lightning.
My days of late have been filled with an incredible amount of stress. I’m starting to question my career in that I question whether or not both your dad and I get to spend enough time with you, together. I want you to see us, a couple, together- parenting together. And more often than not if I’m at work, you’re with Gabe alone and if I’m not at work, you’re with me alone. I cherish our days together like that, but I also miss your dad, and I want you to witness us being in love and together. I want you to know how much we work as a team. I’m going to have to figure something out.
On our latest day out together we had a playdate with a friend and you had a ball. You bounced in an inflatable bouncy house thing and I stood on the outside of the thing wondering which bone you would break first, or who would end up with a fat lip. I always used to think my mom was unreasonable for worrying like she did . Now I know. I try not to hover, but it’s hard. I have to let you fall, scrape your knees, brush it off, but it’s hard. And I know that letting you bounce in the bouncy house with the big kids is just the very beginning of me allowing myself to let go- to let you have fun, to let you experience that fun and not worry. Worrying is my job.
Your favorite things of late are Owls, being outside, and taco meat. You stayed with your grandma and grandpa over Memorial Day weekend and just had a ball. I was sad for two days when you got back because I worried you don’t have as much fun with us. I wondered if I did/do enough. I think I’m mostly over that now, but I just want you to enjoy what little time we get to hang out where I’m not nagging on you .
This weekend I worked, but we did manage to go get ice cream- your first ice cream cone ever. You had Strawberry Buttermilk ice cream on a cone from Jeni’s ice cream. You didn’t really understand how to eat it. I ended up spoon feeding you most of it while it melted in your hands. Tonight we went on a Dairy Queen run and we tried again, much more successfully. You love ice cream, but don’t quite understand the need to eat it fast in the heat. I just love letting you get messy. Get dirty.
And it’s summer now, officially. So you have dirt under your toenails and your head smells like sunscreen. A dip in our inflatable pool “counts” as a bath in my book. You love being outside so much. I love watching you tell us everything you see. Dog, Airplane, firefighter (?), chasing a robin saying, “Hi bird! What’s he doin? Hi bird, Bye bird!”
I still share these side moments with your dad, looking at him when you say a new sentence or try hard to say “Love you!” or when you’re both dancing around in the living room making all the walls shake with your stomping. In those shared glances, it’s just a connection of pure love and admiration of this person, you- we created. How did we, these two screw up kids, end up with such a prize kid like yourself? It’s just shocking, that’s all. You are perfect to us. You could screw up royally, and we will always be proud and love you.
You’re about to be two. You are going through a mommy phase which I love and hate equally. I cannot put you down. You don’t want me to leave. You say, “You’re my mommy!” and lean in close for a hug. I can’t get anything done. I don’t want to though, I would rather look at your adorable face that oozes love from its pores. I hope you know how much I appreciate your existence in my life. You are the best part of it.
All my heart,
All my heart.