baby blue

Oh, my sweet Ethan. You are almost sixteen months old and I can't believe where the time has gone. I am holding onto these next couple of days before we celebrate another month passing. Something I've learned since I've been a parent is that these couple of days, well, they make a difference. Who you are today isn't who you were just two weeks ago. What you liked five days ago is something you no longer enjoy. Each morning you wake up with this zest for living and this aura of goodness and sweetness and newness and I am soaking it all in. I am soaking in the way your eyes -- those cerulean pools that completely captivate me -- light up whenever you hear a bird chirping from up in the trees. You are so curious about so much and always sweetly so, genuinely trying to learn how things work and how you can be a part of them. There is so much love and beauty in your heart.

This afternoon you snuggled with me on the couch amongst a mess of pillows and cushions while we read Chip Wants A Dog nine times in a row. Your daddy and I can recite that book word for word but today it didn't seem old or overdone. Today I breathed in the way it felt to cuddle with you like we used to all of the time when you were a newborn, in the way I took for granted those sleep-deprived days when I never thought we'd find our way. Somehow I must have blinked too long and now here you are -- a child -- your feet tap-tap-tapping against the windowpane as we maneuver our story time on the couch despite the awkward pillows and the stretched out cats trying to fight for space in the sunlight. By the afternoons, you no longer smell like newborn lotion and soft, powdery new baby. You smell like sweat and coconut water and the applesauce you combed into your hair after you decided you were finished with your lunch. After the ninth time, you slid your way off of the couch -- feet first, as we keep practicing -- and placed the book on the end table. Just like that, it was onto the next thing.

This afternoon at the park, a little boy cried to his mother that he was thirsty. You picked up your cup of water and carried it over to this other child, this stranger, and offered it to him. You amaze me in this way, with your thoughtfulness, and I am always taken aback. You make me so proud. It is one of my greatest aspirations as your mother to ensure that you continue living your life to the tune of your heart and with the compassion and love you already show as a toddler. Adults often tend to overlook children and classify them as naive when, really, I think adults could learn a lot from you and the purity that encompasses who you are. I know I learn something from you, every single day. You help me to remember the things that adulthood has hidden from me.

My sweet blue-eyed boy with your curly, unruly hair, how you overwhelm my heart. I love you more than you can ever begin to imagine, more than I will ever be able to tell you in words.


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