Dear Darling Little Munchkin Nugget,
I’ve been writing these blogs for over a year now and hoping that one day, you’ll read them. I figure you won’t care about them much at all until you either have a family, or I’m gone. I realized today that I’ve yet to really acknowledge my reason for writing. It’s you. I don’t want to forget these moments with you. I’ve already forgotten about thirty percent of my high school class, my friend’s house phone numbers, and how much it cost to fill my gas tank up in 2002. I don’t want to forget the person you are right now. At two years old, we have a very different relationship than we might when you are thirty, so I want to remember each relationship perfectly.
I took you to get your haircut for the second time in your whole life today. Daddy didn’t come because you’d already gotten your first. It is so weird to me that getting your haircut is no longer a big deal. I’m not sure how your adult hair will turn out, but baby, your two year old hair is WILD. It fits your little energetic personality so well, but it gets in your eyes. As you know, Mommy is a cheapskate so when we get your haircut we cut it as short as possible, but we always let it grow back to that untamable nest of yellow curls. If it didn’t get in your eyes so much, I’d probably just let it grow-regardless of your DeeDee’s opinion.
Anyway, I was looking at you today (with your adorable second haircut) and couldn’t help but get a glimpse into an older version of you. It is such a weird feeling. You’re only two, but today-for just a second-you were about fourteen. It’s a perfect mixture of pride and anxiety. When you’re grabbing my hand and putting a Hot Wheels in it and demanding that I play with you for another hour, time goes by so slowly, but then I look at your little man haircut and think, “God. That went by fast.”
It reminds me to enjoy the moments with you, and for the most part I do. I love to play with you and make you laugh. You have the BEST laugh. The moments when you get all whiny and angry and shout, “NO!” when I tell you it’s time to take a bath-they’re hard-but then there are moments like tonight. Moments when you crawl up into my lap like I’m your own personal bean bag, lay your head in my lap, and watch tv while I rub my fingers through your incredibly short baby locks. Don’t worry. They’ll be back really soon. Then, you’ll look like my two year old again.
I love you. I mean. REALLY. I REALLY REALLY love you. More or at least equal to the most intense love that ever existed.