Posted by: rocketbride | October 25, 2013

dear maggie

blake meets maggie

blake meets maggie

You turned two on Wednesday. I’ll be totally honest: it was less of a big deal than when you turned one. It’s not because you’re in some kind of decline, or because we forgot to celebrate or anything, but it’s more because you’re such a hurricane these days that it’s hard to isolate any particular reason to be excited. Waking up is a joy. Breakfast is a restless ecstasy. You demand toys and pacifiers and refuse to back down a set of stairs like a baby. Everything is about your power. You run laps around the kitchen, sometimes shutting your eyes, because that makes it more fun. You need to be everywhere we are, and do everything we do, including toothbrushing, using the toilet, dressing, brushing hair, reading and using the computer. You alternate between using a prodigious store of words and writhing in wordless drama, too overcome to speak at the horror of breakfast. You maintain a fierce independance, screaming, “I. Can. DO IT!!!!” or my personal favourite, “I’m. FINE!!!”

Last year we blasted you with a confetti cannon of birthday love, sitting you in the middle of a whirlwind of good wishes. This year we spread out to birthday joy so you would have a chance to savour it: one gift every few hours, or every few days. You loved your Sesame Street wrapping paper, but you also rediscovered a bunch of older toys, made new with your sudden interest. Everyday you pull a toy out of obscurity and take it on your morning rounds. You just about killed your father with cuteness when you sat a pink bear down and said, “let’s play, Teddy.” Come on.

For more impressive to me is your musicality. Like your brother Sage, your ability to hear and repeat a tune floors me. This year you started to sing, and you don’t wait for anyone else before you start. In fact, if we try to join in, you usually pause, let us run out of steam, and then continue as if nothing had happened. I get it: we listen to you.

It’s so easy to think that the third child will be predictable. We had two dry runs, so how surprising can you be? Well, you have an opinion about that, too. You don’t look like either of your parents, despite the fact that I made us matching sweaters. Every once in awhile we catch a flash of your brothers in what you do, but it’s gone just as suddenly as it appears. You’re supremely happy running in their gang, but you are not the omega: you are no weakling, and you have no problem insisting that something should be done for you or given over. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve seen your face darken as you yell, “no, das MIIIIINE.” Pillow, toy, couch, parent. It’s all yours.

Next year you will grow and change and run even faster in circles around us. You’ll get interested in underwear–I’m betting you train faster than your brothers, simply because even now you seem more with-it than they are on their best days. You know some of your letters and I can’t wait until you start to recognize words, and unlock the code that keeps all your family members happy. I already miss my sweet little baby, most likely my last, but you’re far from a consolation prize; you’re just a prize.

by loralayne photography.

by loralayne photography.

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