Dear G,
What a year we've had. It is hard for me to believe you are the same kid from last September, or even from January. Sometimes I'm not sure whether you've changed a bunch, or I've changed the lens through which I see you. It is probably both.
We had a rough time there for awhile. We saw Ms. Stacy for counseling, Ms. Sarah for psychological testing, and we continue to see Ms. Carolyn every week for OT. As you get older, you may or may not remember all these appointments and treatments, but I hope if anything sticks it is that Daddy and I will do anything that is within our power to help you when you struggle, especially if that struggle is with things that are beyond your control. We aren't going to save you from every valley in your life, but we are always there to walk with you and hold your hand.
Daddy recently moved some home videos of you as a baby to the Plex system, so that we can watch them on our television, and I get so tickled whenever I see you as an infant. Such a happy, laughing baby. Deep belly laughs that brought me joy then and now when I see you on the screen, crawling away as I'm singing "London Bridge" because you know I'm going to tickle you when I say "We all fall down!"
You blow me away with how you think. My little existentialist.
Tonight, you were reading me a book about dolphins for your 10 minutes of reading homework, which got us talking about mammals. You proceeded to launch into questions about whether we descended from apes, and how humans and apes are different now. You said, "Mommy, you need to get me some more books about how cells changed and became different things. It is fascinating." I had reserved a bunch of Steve Jenkins books from the local library and one of them, Life on Earth: The Story of Evolution, has you riveted.
That you think about stuff like this at T-minus 18 hours until 7 years old makes me wonder what kind of thinker you will be as you mature and understand the complexities in life with greater clarity.
This week you lost 2 teeth, a top and a bottom, and it just cracks me up to see that goofy smile. You already have an impish grin, and the lack of chompers makes this even more obvious.
I love you so much G. You are smart and sensitive and funny and head-strong.
You chatter about Minecraft all the time, and I have no clue what any of it means. You often get sucked into watching cartoon shows that are all subtitled, but you don't care. You love getting together with your best friend, Asher, who seems to understand your Minecraft speak better than I ever could. Your legs continue to grow, making you all even more gangly and uncoordinated than you were before. You and M select characters in books and then wrestle as if you were those characters, which is sweet but usually ends up with somebody crying.
When you wake up tomorrow, you will be 7. I hope you have an excellent birthday and a year as amazing and wonderful as you are to me.
As long as I'm living my first baby boy you'll be,
Momma
What a year we've had. It is hard for me to believe you are the same kid from last September, or even from January. Sometimes I'm not sure whether you've changed a bunch, or I've changed the lens through which I see you. It is probably both.
We had a rough time there for awhile. We saw Ms. Stacy for counseling, Ms. Sarah for psychological testing, and we continue to see Ms. Carolyn every week for OT. As you get older, you may or may not remember all these appointments and treatments, but I hope if anything sticks it is that Daddy and I will do anything that is within our power to help you when you struggle, especially if that struggle is with things that are beyond your control. We aren't going to save you from every valley in your life, but we are always there to walk with you and hold your hand.
Daddy recently moved some home videos of you as a baby to the Plex system, so that we can watch them on our television, and I get so tickled whenever I see you as an infant. Such a happy, laughing baby. Deep belly laughs that brought me joy then and now when I see you on the screen, crawling away as I'm singing "London Bridge" because you know I'm going to tickle you when I say "We all fall down!"
You blow me away with how you think. My little existentialist.
Tonight, you were reading me a book about dolphins for your 10 minutes of reading homework, which got us talking about mammals. You proceeded to launch into questions about whether we descended from apes, and how humans and apes are different now. You said, "Mommy, you need to get me some more books about how cells changed and became different things. It is fascinating." I had reserved a bunch of Steve Jenkins books from the local library and one of them, Life on Earth: The Story of Evolution, has you riveted.
That you think about stuff like this at T-minus 18 hours until 7 years old makes me wonder what kind of thinker you will be as you mature and understand the complexities in life with greater clarity.
This week you lost 2 teeth, a top and a bottom, and it just cracks me up to see that goofy smile. You already have an impish grin, and the lack of chompers makes this even more obvious.
I love you so much G. You are smart and sensitive and funny and head-strong.
You chatter about Minecraft all the time, and I have no clue what any of it means. You often get sucked into watching cartoon shows that are all subtitled, but you don't care. You love getting together with your best friend, Asher, who seems to understand your Minecraft speak better than I ever could. Your legs continue to grow, making you all even more gangly and uncoordinated than you were before. You and M select characters in books and then wrestle as if you were those characters, which is sweet but usually ends up with somebody crying.
When you wake up tomorrow, you will be 7. I hope you have an excellent birthday and a year as amazing and wonderful as you are to me.
As long as I'm living my first baby boy you'll be,
Momma
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