When we last left off around here, little one, you were a very cute but pain in the ass two year old. And as of this post, you are now almost three and a half. I’m sorry for the enormous gap. If you think this is bad, wait until you see your baby book.
In the time that has passed your hair has gotten darker, your eyes have gotten bluer (if that is even possible), your dimples more pronounced as your face slimmed out and you have shot up like a weed. Your sister is awfully concerned that you are going to be taller than her – how can that be possible? She is the OLDEST, you know. Your legs are bowed (thank you grandfather for that one) and your speed is amazing. I don’t really understand how someone who runs so “hard” can also be so fast – but man, you are.
You eat nothing. Anything protein gets a wrinkled nose and a tongue stuck out. You will eat ONE bite of chicken on occasion, though I have snookered you into eating THREE sweet and sour chicken pieces as long as we call them “puffs” and don’t put the sauce on them. Who cares. You ATE CHICKEN. Yogurt is a staple of your diet as is any fruit. Your sister and I tricked you into eating edamame two nights ago because we called them “Treasure Beans” you had to “search” for in their pods. Watching them go flying across the table from a too-strong squeeze brought tons of giggles and I am thankful the game overcame the usual objections and yet another source of protein has entered your diet. That Girl may be useful in the coming weeks.
I will go ahead and admit something to you now. I have put you in ice skating lessons because I very much want to see you play hockey. When you were about two-and-a-half you got on Leah’s Razor scooter and RODE it. With BALANCE. Around that same time I was watching you run one day and I realized you looked like you were on skates when you ran. Not upright, but leaning forward and “digging in”. The bow legs clenched it. I figured all of that made for a chance you would make a helluva skater.
At first I thought I was wrong. You struggled trying to get your legs under you. About four weeks into it you were frustrated and I thought I had done something horrible and you would never like skating ever again. Then a nice woman at the rink who is the parent liason for the skating classes, and a mother of a past Olympic figure skating medalist, told me to exhale. “It takes five weeks, ” she said. On week five you would miraculous stand up and skate like there was a magnet under the ice. I thought she was high. But OMG she was RIGHT. You stood up and took off and turned around and holy shit we had a skater. You got it and came waddling off the ice in your skates yelling, “I wanna skate FATHST, MOMMY!” I know you do, buddy. And I can’t wait to see you do it.
Around Hanukkah time your older sisters made an observation that I’m pretty sure is gonna end up being a premonition. They said with your looks and personality you were going to end up getting much ass and be the laid-back Jewish Matthew McConaughey. Complete with herb. I don’t think they’re far off. I’m hoping that 6am hockey practice will curb the party-side of that premonition, but they’ve pegged the rest of that pretty well. I was told once when you have a boy you worry about one penis. When you have a girl you worry about ALL penises. I think I’m more worried about yours than any other right about now.
Buddy, you are a party in shoes. You are the most charming thing I’ve ever met. My favorite moment since I’ve written about you last is the moment I realized that you taught me something very new – which doesn’t happen all that often any more, sadly. There was a moment we were snuggling in your bed one morning and maybe it was the way you looked up at me with those baby blues but it occurred to me I now understood a man’s heart. It hit me that to truly know a man’s heart you must first know a boy’s.
I get it now. And I thank you for that.