You and I took on the world today, baby boy. And it made me fall even deeper in love with you and your littleness. If that was even possible.
We hopped and jiggled our way all over the beach. Your Nonnie ended the day with a cool activity, and I smiled at you as we stood on the deck and sang to the stars and called out to the moon, “Night! Moon!”
You waved at your uncle, calling “Night! Bye Jason,” just as we walked to your room. Your little voice lit up the room in laughter at such a big comment.
And I’m going to tell you the truth: I’ve often found myself wishing you’d be a bit more grown up. Moments when your tears of frustration pour and your sighs from the hard job of being little fill my ears.
I think, for you, being little is hard. And that makes it hard for me too.
But today, today I want to freeze you. To lock you up in the body of an almost-two-year old and not let you learn one more thing. I want to preserve your innocent face, so happy about a light up wand.
I love you, so, so much.
I know that in a year or two, what’s magical today won’t be magical anymore.
I want to preserve your tiny voice.
“Tinkle, tinkle, ittle tawaar! Ow under ut oo awaaar! Up above Sky hiiigh! Dimont In sky!!”
I want to preserve the moment you said, “Daaaadyyy! Where are you?” In a sing-song voice just like mine for the first time.
I want to preserve you sitting in my lap on a golf cart. A sigh of joy as the beach wind hits your hair. A second later, you fell out in complete chill toddler today-is-so-fun-I-can’t-anymore.
I want to preserve your fearless love of humans of every skin tone and creed. You don’t know that there are problems in the world yet. I hope your generation is better than ours. I hope we aren’t messing it up for you. I’m not ready for you to see the turmoil of the world yet.
Keep your blinders on, kid. Love your neighbors. All of them. Equally.
I want to preserve your littleness. You fit right in my lap. Any bigger and I’m going to complain that you’re too big. Stay tiny, sweet kid.
I want to preserve the way you come to me crying as I say, “Are you sad? It’s okay to be sad.” And you let me kiss it away. One day, kisses won’t do the trick.
If you can, just stay this way for awhile. Quit learning for now and just stay, for a moment. Let me hold you and kiss you and snug you. Because these next few years are basically all I have before I must share my sweet son.
And you are as precious as a child can possibly be. I just really, really love you. Just as you are. Forever and always.