Tuesday, June 24, 2014

Dear Simon

Dear Summah Beekuh (this is how you say your name),

I haven't written to you in awhile, Bubby Wubs. Since I've last written, we've moved into a new house with a yard where you like to chase your dog, ride on your trucks and hide so that you can put rocks in your mouth without me seeing. I've never seen a child run so fast as when you get caught doing something you know you're not supposed to be doing. Rock-eating aside, this is what I dreamed of for you: you have a simple little bedroom and you share a bathroom with the rest of us and there's not a ton of storage. But you have a yard, with dirt and bugs and sticks and rocks. Your language has exploded since we've been here. You speak in sentences now,

"Where did Dada go?" or "I will play with Sarah!" or "I hear..." fill in the blank here. You say it all day long. "I hear a firetruck!" or "I hear a dog!" or "I hear sister. Sister crying?"



Since I've last written to you, you've also gotten a little sister. Folks ask me what you think of her, and what I usually say is that, honestly, you don't really think of her. That's OK, baby. Soon enough. You say "hi" to her every now and then or you tell me when she's crying. More often, I find you driving your trains over her head or poking her eyeballs. The other day, I heard her cry get muffled, and I found you on top of your sister in her bassinet, sucking your thumb and trying to cuddle her. It was the sweetest, scariest thing. I told you that it was really sweet of you to try and cuddle her, but that we have to be more gentle than that. "Seetah cryyyying!" you said, like, "Mom, you weren't doing anything, so I had to take matters into my own hands." Fair enough.

You are a fascinating child. And as much as I don't want to stereotype you, you are ALL. BOY. I was just telling your Daddy last night that this epitomizes you:

Many children can run or walk from one room to another. You make it your mission in life to take the most destructive route from point A to point B, and you take that route running. You don't just go from the kitchen to the family room. You RUN from the kitchen to the family room, and on the way, you pull a bowl off the shelf, climb over a chair, throw a toy at the wall, fall a few times and then--when you get there--you fling yourself onto the sofa and pull all of the pillows and cushions off. I am not kidding you, child, when I say you are capable of doing all of this in less than one minute. It is exhausting. I absolutely adore you. But I would be lying if I didn't say that I all but collapse on the sofa when you go down for your afternoon nap or pour myself a glass of wine as soon as you go to bed at night.

The other day you ate bird poop and cried. After I cleaned your mouth out, I asked you why you did it, and you said,

"Mama! I don't know."

 You are precious, child. I sometimes think God made you extra cute, so I wouldn't do something terrible when you put entire rolls of toilet paper in the toilet and stop the washing machine for the second time. Just kidding.

Thank you for being you, Simon Baker. I love being your mom.

xo




2 comments:

  1. Sweet sweet! Love the bird poop!! haha. I love that he cried. Yuck!

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  2. He is precious!! You're such a sweet mom :)

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