Wednesday, May 22, 2013

Will I Remember?

Dear Charlie,

You are getting so big so fast, growing up and changing from a toddler to a little boy right before my very eyes.  You're so much more capable than you were last year, so much braver, so much more coordinated.  But you're still you; still a little reserved.  Still a little shy.  Still a little hesitant about letting go.

I don't think it's any secret that I'm loving this stage of parenting.  It is by far my most favorite.  I love the curiosity, the adventure, and the independence that is happening; it's what I imagined when I dreamed of being a mother.  I love the outings we take, the walks around the block, the jumping in puddles, the nature trail hikes.  I love the way I can rake the yard and you can safely play in the driveway with your toys or sidewalk chalk.  I love how  your brain is becoming so uniquely you.  You're turning into your own person, asking your own questions, forming your own conclusions, stating your own opinions, which just continue to amaze me.

I swear to myself that I'm going to remember these days, but I know I'll forget the details.

Will I remember how you point out every detail in the books we read?  That they forgot to put the backpack on that page, or that they hid a kitty up in the tree.  (You are an illustrator's dream)

Will I remember how you yell at Daddy, our wasp-smacking-hero, "Smack him Daddy! C'mon, get him get him!"

Will I remember how you encourage me when I'm struggling to bike up our hill with you and the bike trailer (about 60+ pounds) in tow?  "C'mon Mommy!  You can do it!  Use your big muscles Mommy!  Up the HILL!"

Will I remember how you give me three kisses-- right on the lips-- alternating with three hugs, every morning and then run to the window at Nicole's house, waving madly at me and blowing me kisses as I back out the driveway?

Will I remember how you shout to Daddy, "If you see Binga out there, can you tell him it's time to come inside? Now!"  Or as Daddy leaves for work, "If you see Binga at your work, can you bring him back here?  Right away!?"  

Will I remember that you like to hide Puppy under the table "in jail"?

Will I remember the morning you pranced all around our house singing, "Down by the stashe! Down by the stashe!" (short for station)

Will I remember the way you play "story lady" and read books to your stuffed animals?

Will I remember how you hate waking up in the morning and always put your head under your pillow, and stay that way until we physically pull you out?

Will I remember the way you always want to make "silly face" for photos, rather than just smiling your adorable smile?

Will I remember how much you hate the light of morning, always insisting that 'It too bright!".  How sometimes, you even eat breakfast with your sunnies on, just because of your vampire-sensitive eyes?But the other day you looked at me as I flipped on the lights and said, "It okay Mommy.  My eyes da-justed." 

Will I remember the way Daddy gave you a pep talk before your race at the Hershey Track Meet?  How he bent down and told you, You have your Diego shoes on.  And they're super fast.  So when the man says "GO!" you just run as fast as you can in your fast shoes, all the way down to the string. And then, when you won the race, you became known to us as the fastest three year old in Grundy Center?

These little tiny moments, the ones that make me laugh out loud, the ones that tug on my heart like Maddy pulled on her leash, are my real live-in-the-moment life right now.  And though I sometimes crave a moment alone, or a quiet Saturday morning, I have a feeling when that time comes, I'll crave these tiny moments and wish they weren't just a memory.

I have yet to meet a person who tells me that kids grow up too slowly.  And from what I've experienced, I completely agree.  But thank you, Charlie, for growing into such an amazing little boy.  Each new milestone and stage has by far exceeded the previous, which lessons the sting of growing up just a bit.  I love the baby you were, the little boy you became, and the big boy you are turning into.  I couldn't be more happy and exited to be a mama than now.


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