Dear Goose,
This birthday was so much different than the last. You: not feverish, thrilled to open presents, licking frosting off your cake.
You talk to us now, in full sentences, compound sentences, endless strings of mostly sense and sometimes complete gibberish and quite-right turns of phrase that you have made up.
"You bring tape! You bring three tapes! You bring one tape, and two tape, and mama's tape. You go on an adventure."
You listen to everything. A year ago you watched, two years ago same thing. Observing, always observing. Now your ears have been wrangled into the act, and that part of childhood where you're always listening and the adults are always forgetting and growing too comfortable begins. I finally started covering my mouth and whispering if I mentioned birthday plans in your presence.
You are so delightful. Your imagination is full-fledged, your babies are each other mommies, you tuck them in and sing to them and change their diapers. You turn blankets into pirate ships and mermaid tails. Tape and post-its are band-aids, I always have something on my knee as you try to make me feel better. You cook noodles and garlic soup. You had a coughing fit the other day and I asked you if you were coughing up a spider. No. A mermaid? No. A bumblebee!
I love talking to you. Today we were talking about your birthday last weekend, how we went fishing, then ate the fish, then followed up with some pizza. I asked you if you remembered anything else about your birthday.
"Yeah."
"What?"
"Yeah."
"What do you remember?"
"Yeah."
"What?"
"Pizza with candles!"
There was no pizza with candles, but I think I'm going to remember it that way too.
I love you!
Love,
Mama
