Monday, May 4, 2009

letter to Max 32 months

Dear Main Man,

I cannot BELIEVE you have been with us for over 2 and a half years already. I know, sometimes the days seem to drag along, but wow.

You are incredibly tall and incredibly handsome and so fiercely independent it can be infuriating to your mom and I. We were in the store a few weeks ago trying to buy you some clothing that fits. We had to leave the baby section and enter the little boy section because you already fit sized four clothing and I can't believe it. Then we went to try on shoes and you are wearing a SIZE TEN! At least I won't be the only one in the house with mammoth feet!

While we were in the store you wanted to push the cart. You have always enjoyed pushing carts, but you can now actually reach the handle. Just because you can reach the handle does not mean you are accurate at pushing the cart - especially in the silly store we were in where they stack things in the aisle to make life easier on....themselves? So- you were pushing the cart and I was trying to steer you away from major collisions by touching the front of the cart at opportune moments to stop the cart from crashing. Every time I touched the cart you let out a SCREAM, you did NOT want help. Well I had to balance your desire for independence with my desire to leave all aisle displays standing and so i continued to touch the cart when you were aiming in a poor direction. Apparently all the screaming drew the attention of the "oh so helpful" staff in the store and someone came to see if there was anything he could do to help. You will notice when you get older and have kids of your own (yes, I just channeled my mother as I typed that) that people who are the most willing to offer words of encouragement or advise are the people WITHOUT the children. In this case, judging from the personal hygiene of the individual who came to our aide, that he shower himself, let alone raise a two year old. However, he was full of advise. "Why don't you try to put him IN the cart" he said to me. I looked at him with what must have been supreme confusion because he repeated himself, "Mam, have you tried putting him IN the cart?"

I took a deep breath, counted to ten and then in the only voice I could muster, said as politely as I could to the helpful man... "Did YOU want to try and put him in the cart?" Apparently, the smoke pouring from my ears and the flames shooting from my nostrils somehow buried my polite tone and I terrified the poor man. He squeaked "Have a nice day mam" and disappeared from sight. You didn't stop screaming when I touched the cart. My smoking ears and flame shooting nose don't impress you.

In spite of your fierce independence I love the little person you are, and the one you are growing into.

I will see you in a few minutes where you will insist I put my shoes on and join you outside, where it is my sole purpose for existence to entertain you (and by entertain you mean push you on your bike, and by push you mean RUN behind you on your bike.) Which reminds me, I'll see you as soon as I stop at the pharmacy for an inhaler refill.

Rest your head close to my heart, never to part, baby of mine.


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