Last night you went to sleep a 2 year old for the last time. Tonight when you go to sleep you will be three. Three! You’ve been my SchmoopyBaby for three whole years! I managed to only cry once today before 7am. It is now not yet 10:30 as I am writing this, and I have cried a good deal more since then (thank goodness my officemate is on travel today).
This morning you woke up early at 5:45am and climbed into my bed. I was already up and getting ready for work downstairs when I heard the pitter-pat of your feet. You wanted to sleep next to me for a while, so I climbed back into bed with you. You are still so deliciously small, and you are so affectionate. Although weaned, you still crave the closeness of my body and are comforted by the feeling of my skin. You placed one hand on the mole on my side, and with the other hand pulled my face towards yours and draped your arm across my body, resting your hand on my arm. Then you drifted back to sleep, breathing deeply into my face. I so wanted to luxuriate in our closeness, while simultaneously feeling the pull of duty… the morning chores – making lunches and taking out the trash… the little kickypants in my belly reminding me “Hey Mom, when you are hungry I am hungry. Get up and eat!” As frequently happens, even in your sleep you read my mind. Something in body language changed and you knew I was considering moving away from you. Your little leg slid on top of mine, your foot resting on my thigh, holding me in place. So I rested next to you a little longer before quietly dragging myself away.
About a half hour after I went downstairs you woke again, this time for the day. You greeted me cheerily when you saw me tidying the play area, and then you spotted the first of the birthday presents I bought for you – a small play kitchen, which your father and I stayed up last night to assemble. You were quite excited and began to play with it immediately. It didn’t make any difference to you that it is a small, inexpensive, flimsy plastic kitchen rather than one of those beautiful, big, wooden kitchens that I drool over. You delighted in opening and closing the oven doors, you took the lids off and on the little pots, and inspected all the utensils. You didn’t mind that there was no actual play food either, and continued to cook and serve blocks and crayons, as you have been doing for as long as you’ve been play cooking and serving.
Tonight when I get home from work we will go to your grandparents’ house, where we will eat pizza and cake with your cousins. You have been asking for birthday cake for a couple of weeks now, so I hope you get your fill tonight.
Happy Birthday, my sweet boy. I love you more and more with every passing day and every passing year.