There is a ton of interest in the Stokke Tripp Trapp high chair, and for good reason. This versatile, attractive and well-made high chair is one of the best baby products on the market. Many parents have questions about the ins and outs of the Stokke Tripp Trapp, and in this post I’ll go over…
In an ideal world, all of our children would love to go to school, love to learn, love to work on their reading comprehension and writing skills, and be effortlessly talented with numbers. As a parent, it’s natural to wonder how to get your child interested in school. In reality, kids sometimes dislike studying. And there…
If you have a young kid, you know the appeal of superheroes. In this gift guide I’ll go over the best Spiderman toys for the superhero fan in your life. Spiderman ranks as one of the all-time classics. Kids today are just as into Spiderman as they were decades ago, so it’s no surprise that…
This weekend it struck me: My daughter, who is just a year old, will never know a world where there hasn’t been a woman in the White House. And until the age of 41, I’ve never known a world where there has. My kids will never live in a country where there hasn’t been a…
I wake up, startled, your face an inch from mine. Your whole body hovers over me, your raspy baby-bird voice already at outdoor volume although it’s only 5:00 a.m.
“Mama!!”
You’re happy to see me. Really happy. You’re always really happy to see, well, everybody.
And you boom out your happiness, a megaphone in a library. Your whole little life, at almost 3-years-old, has been a megaphone in a library.
You’re always dirty, even right after a bath. Something about your pudgy hands attracts everything sticky. You find something sticky when there’s nothing sticky to be found.
You smear things on your face. And on the couch. And on your clothes. All. The. Time.
I used to see little boys like you; unkempt, raucous, impish.
Grubby.
I’d would wonder why their moms didn’t keep their nails a little cleaner. I would wonder why they always looked disheveled. I would legitimately question why their parents didn’t take them out to dinner, the way we used to take your brother out when he was little.
I think they’re just paranoid. It’s not that hard to take a kid to a restaurant.
And then I had you.
I avoid taking you to restaurants like the plague. Last time we went out to dinner we were begging for the check before our appetizers even arrived.
“CHECK!!”
“But you haven’t eaten yet.”
Oh trust me I know. Just get me the check.
Things always look different when it’s your own circus to manage.
When you were not quite two years old you somehow turned on our stove and let yourself our the front door.
I didn’t know that was a thing a kid might do. Turns out it is.
Why can’t they just keep an eye on their kids? Is it that hard?
Uh, yeah, it actually is that hard, when you’re living with a toddler tornado who doesn’t stop moving even after he’s smashed his head into a door frame for the 5th time in one afternoon. Even a bloody nose doesn’t slow him down. His cheeks are perpetually in a state of road rash from running too fast on the pavement.
And it’s hard to avoid the doorways when you’re moving at the speed of a jet engine in a family home.
Sometimes you grab my cheeks with both hands and look right into my eyes. And it doesn’t matter how grubby those little hands are because something about it just melts me.
Nobody hugs like you do, so often and so hard. You knock us over with the force of those hugs.
It’s hard to stay mad at you for long, even in your craziness.
You’re guileless. You love us. You adore your brother.
You can’t stop yourself from mischief, just yet. You’re a puppy not yet housebroken. But you also can’t stop the love from literally barreling out of that tiny body of yours.
You’re cymbals in a church. You’re drums in a choir. You’re sirens at quiet time.
You’re exhausting to keep up with. Your tantrums are tough. Your sleeping is atrocious. Your eating habits are maddening.
But I already know that I’m going to miss this toddler version of you. The one who says “I’m not a baby, I’m a Tom!”
Oh, how I’ll miss my little Tom. I bet a lot of you will miss your little “Toms” too.
You’re my grubby, rowdy, rambunctious little boy. And I wouldn’t change a thing.
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Wowsa this hits close to home! My second, my last, is just like your little Tom. He’s about a year behind in age, but I can already sense how much I am going to miss this tiny, pudgy tornado as he grows. I look at his sister who’s nearly five and think “when did the baby-ness leave her?” and I’m scared to death for the moment I’ll look at him and think the same thing. While this age is hard – he tantrums, he has very minimal language skills, and there’s lots he can’t do – I will miss terribly those things that make me want to just eat him up – his chubby cheeks, his snuggles, the cute way he talks (“i don’t want!” and “me no mama!”). Great post!
Aw thanks Jamie! Your little guy sounds so sweet 🙂
Great post. It struck me as I was reading this how lucky your children will be when they grow up because you have documented this stage of their lives so dramatically and with so much love and laughter for them. What a huge gift to your own family in the future as well as all the ones out here with you right now. Your writing is filled with inspiration, love and wisdom.
Aw, thank you Kelly!!