Dear Andrew,
Today you are three years old! And you've proudly shared it with everyone at church this morning, barely able to form with words with your giant grin getting in the way. As I spent some time reading the birth story I had written to you two weeks after your arrival, it completely took me back to all of your sweet newness. It's been amazing to think about how some of your traits have endured and how you've also changed into boyhood.
After all this time, you still adore vehicles. And to understand that love from your perspective is fascinating. The things that catch your eye don't necessarily catch mine. While I may observe the color of a truck, you note that it has a hitch and can pull a trailer, that maybe there are horses in the one we've just passed, that there's an extra set of tires on the back end, and, oh by the way, where's he going?
And to formulate that all into a complete sentence, well, let's just say your brain is full of ideas and concepts that you so badly want to share. The words spill out of your mouth like a runner in a 50 meter dash leaving the starting line. Sometimes so fast that endings are removed from words so you can fluidly move into the start of the next without missing a stride.
When you tested out of speech class last March, I beamed. And still, as you attempt to paint pictures with your vocabulary, I can't help but sit and listen to the ramblings. You're so forthcoming about every detail. As lengthy as your exchanges usually are, I hope you don't change. I hope you always know that we will listen, Andrew. That you can always be comfortable sharing your mind with your parents at three or 13.
Morgan isn't so patient with your conversations, however, often interrupting your train of thought to share her older, wiser viewpoint. But she is thoughtful in other ways, encouraging you to try watermelon, wanting to hold your hand, or show you the ways of her world.
Despite her willingness to be the helpful big sister, most often you want nothing to do with a handout. "I will do it my
self," you boldly remind us. Whether that's learning to hit a baseball or wanting to pour your own milk, you are very determined to be independent.
I find that interesting when it comes to friendships. There are certain kids who gravitate towards you, who always say hello, and want to play alongside. And while you acknowledge them and do interact for a bit, you're also equally content to move on, even if that means doing it alone. Sign of a natural born leader, a typical three year old, or just some emotionless male thing I'd never understand? Not quite sure. But it's still intriguing for me to observe the way you play with others at this stage in your life.
In just a few weeks, you'll have lots of organized practice at doing just that as you start three year old preschool. I'm anxious for you to have those hours every week that are geared specifically towards you because I know how much you enjoy being active and having a purpose. Spending an entire day at home without a single car ride or adventure - it just pains you and we all hear about it. Believe me, Andrew, when I tell you that I know the feeling of being trapped at home.
Even with your all your desire to be active, you still manage to enjoy a bit of calm. In fact, I'm quite surprised that in this last year you've started enjoying books as much as you do. Reciting "Big Red Barn" by Margaret Wise Brown is a nightly occurrence with Daddy before bedtime, always pausing in your "reading" (memorization) to ask,
"What's that?"
"Udders."
"Where the milk comes out?"
"Yes."
And back to the story.
Since staggering bedtimes with Morgan, we've been able to enjoy an extra half hour of quality time with you completely alone. Daddy is mainly who you share this time with, the one who lifts and tickles, the one who pulls out the laughs and giggles, and the one who ultimately quiets you down on the love seat for your next book of choice.
While you and I don't get to share
the same sweet moments at bedtime anymore, you do allow Mommy on to your bed when no one else dares. I get to wake you from naps occasionally, and while you open your eyes long enough to then bark at Morgan for intruding, I get to scratch your back and watch you emerge from your cozy slumber, thumb reinserted, lashes closed. You cuddle in with me next to you. And we wait together for the moment when you're finally ready to hatch.
I've spent the last couple years believing that because my children didn't really resemble me physically, they probably wouldn't inherit me in other ways. I realize now that was a mistake. You, Andrew, are already showing me the similarities. Yes, at just three years old, you are bound to change. But these little glances into your budding personality make me think maybe, just maybe, you might have some of Mommy in you after all. Not just matching brown eyes.
I can't help but think of your future when I write these letters. Will you still have a passion for wheels and sports? Will you always tell such vibrant stories? How old will you be when you finally appreciate these words penned especially for you? Is your wife going to think I can't let go?
Maybe.
For now, though, I will continue to enjoy you in this moment of life: our spirited little guy, eager for the next opportunity, silly yet so sincere, wonderful in every way. As you grow and change in the year ahead, I pray that Daddy and I can continue to be the parents for you that God has called us to be. We love you, Andrew, and can't wait to be a part of the new adventures you will show us.
Always,
Mommy
