First of all, I need to work harder on not calling you baby as much. Both you and I know you’re not one anymore; every time you point at babies in your little children’s books and say: “Mama, baby!”, I know what you’re thinking. From your own perspective, you’re a little man now, looking at those cute pictures like you’re way older than them.
You’re not that much older – it feels like yesterday when we brought you home from the hospital, cuddled up in your baby blanket on that cold April morning.
But you’ve changed. And you’ve changed me, too.
Our mornings start differently now. I’m no longer just your mom and your caretaker. I’m your friend.
Every day, you’re trying to show off all the things you’ve learned.
You now have your opinion and you’re a stubborn little guy when it comes to asking for what you want. You know what? I wouldn’t have it any other way?
While you may push me over the edge dozens of times throughout the day, I’m doing my best to embrace even our toughest moments. I know I’ll miss them when you’re old enough to know how to control your temper. The moment you start making decisions to be a good kiddo, I’ll know this stage is forever gone.
One day, you will no longer run to me every five minutes to cuddle and ask for kisses, before going back to play.
You won’t be so excited to get freshly cut out fruit and homemade juice in your sippy cup. You’ll know how to get all these things yourself. I will no longer be needed for that.
Yes, one day I’ll have more time to sleep, have me time, do more work, have more date nights with your dad. But I’m not looking for that just yet.
I still enjoy seeing your clumsy, little feet rushing across the back yard, just to be the first next to the raspberry bush.
I love the excitement in your eyes when you’re petting dogs and cats. You’ve never had a bad experience with them, so why would you fear? The world is still beautiful in your eyes. I want to keep it that way for as long as possible.
You don’t need to know what a year 2020 has been so far. You’re too young, too fragile, too unaware of the terror that’s clouded our world. I’ll simply stand in front of you and shield you from those toxic arrows. One day, hopefully this will be just a story to tell. I’ll let you know what a little hero you were, how you never complained about spending all this time only with your closest family.
You’re growing too fast, little one. I’m excited and thrilled about it, but I’m also in panic mode. I don’t know how to make the time slow down, how to keep your little hands tiny, soft and keen to hold my hands – at least for a bit more.
I’m proud about every word you learn, every thought you connect, every flavor of attitude you express. The best thing of all is that you’re doing it all on purpose. You know very well how to grab your dad’s attention while he works, how to get me to give you things I literally said no to two seconds ago, even how to completely annoy me for the pure fun of it.
I love it all.
As much as it hurts, I’ll never tell you to stay this way. To not change. I know you have to, and I’ll be there to guide you every step of the way you need your mom.
But every step you take towards being your own little man will break my heart, too.
I love you.
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