I spuddle.

Dear Birdy,

And now you are two. How did that happen? No, seriously, how? I can’t get my head around it, I swear you were just born except that was August 14, 2007 and somehow it now happens to be August 14, 2009 (I KNOW IT’S NOT, BUT CLOSE ENOUGH)(We were on holiday, remember?  At Grammy and Grandad’s cabin?  And now we are home and I have internet access and so, now, late).

Impossible that two years have passed. Maybe I have a brain tumour that causes strange stop-starts and time-lapses and fast-forwards. I don’t know. But I do remember every single detail of the day leading up to your birth about how I really really wanted you to be born before Grammy left for Australia and Dr. B. left for England — both leaving on the same day, deserting us, really, and you weren’t quite due yet but I was going to have you, so help me (and you). So I said I was having terrible cramps, which I wasn’t really, maybe some twinges, but I really wanted to be, and they admitted me and lo I was dilated, so that was lucky that my mostly made up “labor pains” were actual real labor pains only I didn’t quite know it. My doctor agreed to break my water such that it would speed up the labor that I’d made up, which turned out to be real, and boy did she ever speed it up. Good thing, too, because Grammy really wanted to meet you before she left town. So next thing I knew, there you were and I was still screaming for an epidural when the doctor said, “She’s already out, it’s TOO LATE. Now stop that screaming.” I screamed a bunch more just for good measure because I must tell you that it hurt a great deal when you were born, but it was worth it, totally, every second of it.  Then both Grammy and the doctor were like, “GOTTA GO!”  But, worth it.   It was.   Well, maybe except the part where all my lady bits are now falling out, but that’s another story and entirely not your fault. You didn’t ask to have a bean the size of a basketball, at least I don’t think you did. If you DID, that’s not very nice now, is it?

Anyway, look at you! So cute. But you didn’t stay like this for more than ten seconds, not that you didn’t stay cute, but you just kept growing up so FAST. I’m going to keep saying that again and again because it’s like when it’s hot outside and it’s all anyone can talk about, like omigod, it’s so HOT. I say that about you, except I say, OMIGOD SHE’S SO BIG. It’s confounding.   And you are big.   You weren’t big when you were born but you are now three feet tall.    THREE FEET.   That’s ridiculous.   I hope you aspire to basketball or modelling or at least that being very very tall makes you happy and doesn’t create in you a need to constantly slouch, like I do.   Seriously, don’t do that.   Stand up straight.   Be tall!  Be happy.   Not that you need ME to tell YOU to be happy.   You were born that way.

I swear you came out smiling, and look, you even smiled in your sleep. I have never been so lucky as to even meet a human who is as happy as you are. You are ridiculously, comically, joyously happy so often that I think maybe you aren’t even quite real, perhaps you are some sort of alien experiment gone awry because for reals, NO ONE is this happy.

Well, no one is this happy, except for YOU.

And I hope you always are.

Say “Cheese!”

Much like with your brother, I forgot to do a baby book.   Well, I didn’t forget, per se, I just would rather spend my time lying on the floor pretending to eat your toes.  And I didn’t even do THAT as much as I wanted to.   Honestly the first year of your life was a blur. I’m astonished at everything you learned how to do because I swear you must have taught yourself while I painted and wrote and rushed around madly like a headless chicken from one thing I frantically had to finish to the next thing I frantically had to finish. When you calmly wandered over to the babysitter the other day and counted slowly and precisely from one to ten, it was like a miracle. I did not teach you that. WHERE did you learn it? I think maybe The Bun teaches you things when I’m not looking. He must do. And you — you are smart like a whip. I bet it won’t be long until you’re teaching him a thing or two. And me, for that matter. Actually, you’ve already taught me a great deal. Mostly about patience — not that you have any yet, but you will — and about joy. You are such a SMOOCH. I love you so much. I’m sorry your letter was late and actually more pictures than words, but pictures are worth a thousand words, so really this is almost an entire novel. And better late than never, right?

I love you my Birdy, my little Bean.

Mummy

Filed under: Birthday Letter