Letters to Graham: Three!

Dear Graham,

For most of my life, I have been a morning person. It is pretty normal for me to have accomplished what feels like a full day’s work before some people open their eyes to a new day. You have reshaped this perspective in ways both awesome and challenging. When you were tiny, you mastered sleep quite well, but always woke with (or before) the sun. 

This morning began the way it does nearly every day: with you waking somewhere around 4am, coming into bed with us where you begrudgingly surrender to another couple of hours of sleep before opening your eyes, sitting straight up, scooting directly into my side and saying “Mommy, can I please have some milk and watch Paw Patrol now?” 

You are a ball of extremes, just as your brand new three-ness demands. You defy nearly anyone, loudly, and resort to throwing things, screaming, kicking and sometimes also hitting to make your point, but you also run into our arms unprompted and exclaim, “I love you, Mommy!” You demand a movie and then ask again, remembering your manners. And when the clown scene pops up, you say “Daddy, can you sit with me? I’m a little scared of that clown.” 

You narrate our days, always wanting a clear understanding of what comes next and also what happens after that. You’re starting to anticipate preschool, which begins in the fall, and I think after so many months of being toted around to Rowan’s various activities, you are ready to embrace your own. Soon, buddy! 

You are still in your crib and since you don’t attempt to climb out and seem quite comfortable, we are in no hurry to evict you. While mornings can be a little hairy, our nighttime routine remains a cherished favorite: we bundle you into jammies, brush teeth and then snuggle up with Rowan to say our prayer and sing three songs which you now join, at the top of your lungs. Back in your room, I typically indulge you one final song while we rock before tucking you into bed. You clutch beloved blankie tightly and without fail, you crane your head as I walk toward the door, and you issue your omnipresent demand: “come check me early in the mornin’!” 

You are a storyteller. You come up to us, eyes huge and wide: “guess what, guys?!” and then you launch into whatever tale you’ve woven for us that day. It could be monsters who join you for playtime or who inexplicably “smack you in the head,” or it could just be a retelling of the day’s activities: you go for walks, you find rocks! You pull on Mollie’s ear (naughty!) and she poops on the rug in your room! You stand on the ledge of our fireplace and you say “ready guys? Ready for the show?” And then you sing or dance or say gibberish things that make sense only to you (and often also to Rowan). No matter the content, we are putty in your hands, an engrossed audience. 

Garbage trucks thrill you and inspire quite the obsession. You watch them from our window, from the back patio as they lift the trash cans high above our fence. You demand that we stop when we’re out and about and you spot a garbage truck doing its job. Trucks of all kinds have your favor, but right now, none so much as the garbage truck. “There it goes,” you say “off to empty aaalllllll the trash!” 

You adore Rowan, whom you call “Rowie.” This doesn’t mean you don’t have your constant moments of sibling rivalry – you do! And sometimes they are quite spirited. But just as often, we get to sit back and watch as she gently teaches you to peddle your bike on the patio, or as you walk up to her when she’s upset and you hand her a favorite toy or notebook or gadget and you say “here Rowie, this will make you feel better.” Sometimes you hug her unprompted, and you always ask about her and want to know her interests and whereabouts and thoughts. I hope that relationship continues to blossom, sweet boy. You are each other’s greatest gift, strongest allies, and Daddy and I are so very grateful that you have each other. 

You are working hard at mastering the potty, and you’ve got pee-pee down to a science. Let’s just say the other one is taking longer. :) You love to tell me that you are going to go to school and also to soccer, but “only when I go poo-poo in the potty!” Since you are so crystal clear on the goal and the rewards, I am feeling quite good about your odds, sweet boy. 

You are a runner and your favorite speed is GO. You like to be outside, to ride your scooter, to play with your fleet of trucks. To dig in the sand, in the mud, to play at the park, at the beach, in the backyard. You’re also quite content to cook me meal after meal in the play-kitchen, diligently asking what I want and then rushing to make and deliver your masterpiece. What service! 

You are an astute observer – nothing gets by you. You hear the rustling of paper or smell the spice of cinnamon and immediately you say, “whatcha eating, Mommy? Is it GUM?!” When I admit that it is, I must satisfy your need for repeated attempts at blowing bubbles. You walk around our house holding books high above your head, and it takes me a minute to connect the dots and realize that you’ve brought this home from Sunday mass, busy replicating the things you see as you navigate your days. 

You really love  Mommy right now, and when I am around, you prefer me to do everything for you, and you choose not to go anywhere or do anything that doesn’t involve me. If I am trying to complete a work call from home or facing the prospect of changing my third dirty diaper of the day, I may try to persuade you to consider another option, but most of the time, I cherish this and know that it will be short lived in the grand scheme of things. (Please always save a soft spot for your Mommy, GG!) 

You infect us with your energy, make us laugh every day, constrict our hearts again and again with your sweet antics and those huge baby blues. Life is impossibly sweet with you in it, and I hope with my whole heart that in the midst of the crazy and the loud and the fast moving minutia of life, you know with your whole heart and entire being how fiercely and unconditionally we love you. 

Welcome to three, baby. It is so lovely watching you grow. 

Mommy 

In the blink of an eye from this...

To this...

Mama's Boy, from the beginning...

and for always...

Little boy, BIG sweetness (and fun)!