You were born two years ago today. Two years! Two years! Has it really been two years? Yes. It’s been much more than two, hasn’t it? It seems like it was lifetimes ago. And as I watch your skinny little human body wriggle in the tub, stretching out to submerge as much of your skin as you can at one time, I am baffled that you can almost touch both ends. How did this happen? Where did the extra skin come from? How did your bones find the time to lengthen under my very watchful eyes? I was watching closely! I was told to watch closely because ‘it goes so fast‘ they all say… They grow! He’ll grow! Time flies!
You giggle and drink bath water as I make the icky face, promising you the bestest, cleanest water you’ve ever had if you will just HOLD OUT and stop drinking the water your bum has been floating in for the last 10 minutes. You choose your bum water every time. Because, I’m discovering, you like to see me make the icky face. I try to act nonchalant, like “Oh, go ahead, Ezra! Drink the bathwater… Mommy doesn’t even care, see?” But everytime, without fail, icky face breaks through and you giggle. You giggle. You giggle…
I love you, Ezra. I love how you make me laugh at all hours of the day. I love how we go places, and how we are the only two crouching in the corner at the bookstore- giggling like teenagers wrapped in an inside joke. We laugh and are foolish in front of perfect strangers. And they smile. We smile. Smile makers, we are! I love how we haven’t used the stroller in months. It sits in the garage, covered in a layer of dust. No, no. You and me? We’re walkers! Strutters! Hand in hand. Side by side. Your hand instinctively slipping into mine in the parking lot- on the asphalt; Your hand then letting go the exact instant your foot hits the grass of the park or the carpet of the library. Then you’re running! And I’m chasing! Wind in our faces! Strollers be damned!
Two years ago you were born. You cried and cried and then ate and we all slept curled up in the hospital beds as the light streamed through the plastic blinds. When we woke, the SuperBowl echoed from the screens of the TVs hanging above our heads. We were all triumphant and larger than life and the football players looked like ballerinas dancing on a silly green stage. Why are they dancing? It seems so ridiculous and surreal. My baby is asleep in the plastic tub by my bed and yet the football players keep dancing? Do they not know?
I promise not to call you terrible this year. You are not a terrible two. You are a wonderful boy and how did you get so big? Whatever this year brings, we will always come out on top, kiddo. You and me and daddy always safe in the storms. Do you hear me saying that? It’s the truth. Now, promise me you will always be two. Some part of you- no matter how small- can it always be two? The part that giggles when mommy is disgusted? The part that knows I will guide you safely from the parking lot to the grass? The part of you that eats birthday cake with no hands? Just say you’ll stay two. You’ll be 30, but you’ll also be two.
Forever and always two.
Happy Birthday, Peanut Butter.