Dear Quinn,
Daddy and I decided not to find out if we were having a boy
or a girl when I was pregnant for you. We loved the anticipation, the
wondering, the surprise. So we called you LBK
(for Little Baby Kirtley) while we awaited your arrival.
Now, eighteen months after your birth, LBK has taken on a new meaning. You, my little
toddler, are all boy. You, my
little boy, are all toddler. You’ll always be my baby in my heart, but you’re
really Momma’s little boy now. You’re now Little Boy Kirtley.
When you take a bath, I can’t tell where the dirt ends and
the bruises begin. You’re adventurous and all rough and tumble. You fall, and you get bruised
and scraped. Sometimes you cry about it. Sometimes I cry about it. But after the
boo-boos are kissed and the tears are wiped away, you’re ready for action once
again.
I also get dirty and bruised as I follow your lead. We
explore new territories together, like the sand pit at the park, the area under the trees where the pine cones fall, and our own backyard. I wash away
the dirt on my own arms and legs each night before bed, but the small bumps and
bruises remain and serve as tender mementoes from the day’s adventures.
Now that you’re a toddler, being a SAHM is becoming more like what I thought it was
going to be. We spend our days playing with toys, chasing each other, crashing
big trucks together, kicking the soccer ball, swinging on swings, sliding down
slides, visiting the zoo, having play dates, doing yoga, reading books, singing
songs, dancing around the kitchen, and always making each other laugh.
Our conversations are my favorite, though. That’s right – conversations. I can’t get over how many
words you say! I thought about making a list of all your words, but that would
be a very long list. It’s like I’m talking to a little grown-up sometimes. You’re
starting to put two or three words together, and you even say a few short
sentences. You ask “What is that?” about a zillion times a day, and I answer
you every time.
Your favorite word right now is “bus.” You go bananas when
you see a picture of a bus in a book or see one rumble down the road, and you
will holler BUS! clear as day. I
quickly learned that my reaction to your announcement had better match your
level of excitement. Tied for a close-second place behind buses are trains and trucks. Episodes of Thomas and Friends fill
our DVR, and you bring your picture book of trucks along wherever you go. I’ve
been prepping for life as a boy mom,
so I’m learning the differences between front-end loaders and excavators, pavers
and scrapers, farm trucks and tractors. I think I could pass a pop quiz at this
point.
What really blows me away is that you count to two. If you see
two dogs during our walk, you
point and say two. If you have two stuffed
animals in your hands, you hold them up and say two. When you see Mommy and Daddy’s matching Diet Pepsi cans sitting
on the table, you point and say two.
When you saw our friends’ twin babies, you pointed and said two. Even though I could list a hundred
examples, it amazes me every time.
I feel silly when I remember how worried I was about you walking. You run everywhere now,
and I hustle to keep up with you. I ask you, “What do you want to do now,
Quinn?” and you reply simply, “Play.” Then you dart past me in a blur of dirt
and giggles, and I’m on my feet again.
You’re growing tall, just like Daddy. You stand almost three
feet already! You no longer rest comfortably on my chest like you did so many
nights when you were a baby. Now, you toss and turn and twist in my arms trying
to find places for your long arms and legs to go. I’m so proud of my growing
boy, yet more than a little sad that you’re already growing too big to sleep on
my shoulder.
Daddy and I are excited to take you on vacation soon! This
Saturday, the day you will turn eighteen months old, the three of us will be on
a plane to Kauai. Not a bad way to celebrate your half-birthday, huh, kiddo? It’s
going to be different from the vacations we took before you were born (and even
from our Kauai trip last year).
There will be a lot less sunbathing and sipping daiquiris and more chasing you
around the beach while my daiquiri melts in the sun. But that’s okay. We’re
just excited to spend a whole week together as a family and see the joy on your
face.
It’s your joy that fuels me, Q-man. As soon as I start to doubt myself (which is often),
as soon as I get worried and anxious
(which is often), I see your big smile and I am comforted knowing what a happy
child you are.
I share your joy, sweetheart.
I love you,
Mommy
Mommy
