Three months has passed since my last little blog note to you. During that time you attended an Olympic Games and kind of traveled all over the world. At least to St. Lucia and California and Istanbul and Ireland. That makes four countries in three months and although I realize you have no idea that happened and will never remember it (unless you are some spooky savant, which I hope not but would not make me love you less, but I just hope not cause it’s weird and creepy), we have the photos of you smiling in each new locale to prove it. You smiled on the beach and on a boat. You smiled while wearing a mini morning suit on a grassy lawn overlooking hills and valley and while your brother tried to wrestle you to submission. You smiled while playing on a roof terrace with your relatives with some of the most famous mosques in the world as your backdrop. You smiled driving through the most gorgeous countryside and trying to play foosball with the handles at eye-level. You smiled even though on more than one occasion you vomited multiple times all over yourself and your red car seat we got for free from an outgoing American from London (we’re like vultures when people leave). And so I learned three things this summer: The first is that you get car sick more easily than my last baby/toddler. The second is that there is a fine art to properly cleaning the crevices of a car seat. The third is that the happy juju you give out to the universe stops for no border.
Simon, you smile. That’s what you do. People constantly ask me if you smile constantly. And I say yes. Because pretty much you do unless you’re making your ugly face which only happens if you’re hungry, tired, I won’t pick you up or Jonah is beating you up. Jonah beats you up a lot and one day I am going to film it so that when you finally give it back and he comes crying to me to tattle, I am just going to make him watch that video and can it.
You smile so much and it’s so big and so happy and so daily changing with emerging teeth and you’ve got the slightest hint of a dimple and you just make us so happy. So peacefully, profoundly, wholly happy.
Also your hair has turned blond. I guess that’s what to call it. I don’t know. But another thing people like to ask me is if your hair has gotten lighter since they saw you last. And I say I guess so because I don’t track the color daily.
You know what else people sometimes ask? They ask if you and Jonah are twins. I swear. People do. I guess they see you front and back in our double buggy and can’t really tell and you are a big fellow wearing your 2 year-old clothing and your brother is getting skinnier and so I get it. Sort of. Kind of. Not really. Whatever.
You wave on command and on gentle request. You wave if someone says hello or goodbye. You even wave if someone says hi or bye. I love your waves. Hi! (That’s me waving to you.)
You know what else you do now that we so love? When Daddy asks you to give a kiss, you just lean your forehead in. You almost give like a forehead high five. I certainly can take credit for no educating of my kids so I can only take credit for the fact that you do not kiss with your lips. Or mouth or even a hand to mouth. You just lean in the forehead. And of course it is perfect and radical and hilarious and super sweet and you better do it forever. Kiss! (That’s me leaning in to catch your forehead.)
I’m so proud of you because you seem really on top of your little responsibilities and milestones. Maybe that’s because The One Who Beats On You took his time. I don’t know. You love brushing your teeth (sucking on toothpaste)! You love trying to buckle yourself in to the buggy (unless you are standing in it which happens a lot and is super dangerous but we are tired, beat-down parents of a second child and so yeah, sometimes we wheel you around that way)! You try to brush your own hair and clean out your ears! You don’t mind all that much if I cut your nails! You just don’t want me to interfere with you throwing books around. Simon, it’s hard to read to you. Like really hard. We kind of try still but not really. I hope someone teaches you to read one day. Not it.
Your favorite stuffed animal by a long shot is Bear. You might actually name him one day but he is Bear for now. He came from good friends of ours when you were born and you picked it yourself to be the best one. You are seriously the easiest human being alive to put to bed at night. Not a peep. Not a wiggle. Not a protestation. No matter what room, what cot/crib, what time, what anything. You just lay where we have placed you. But you definitely look at me sideways if I don’t immediately place Bear on your face.
You insist on self-feeding. You hate being fed. So even though you only have like 8 teeth total and don’t really know how to use a spoon, we can only give you finger food. You are sometimes happy to eat one grain of rice or pea at a time.
You pretty much hate toys. You might play with one for thirty seconds, but then you’re immediately on to the salad spinner on the bottom shelf in the kitchen or pulling over our little red telephone table. It has fallen on top of you a couple of times and you cry, but you forgive it every time. You love swinging my full length mirror over its stand and throwing every single one of my toiletries in the bath. If I sternly admonish you, you kind of growl at me. Or you smile super sweet and then blatantly do it again. You do that in your high chair with food and it makes you giggle. You think you’re hilarious when you’re being naughty. Your favorite non-toy of all is my wallet and you pretty much empty it whenever you can. Sometimes we just see you crawling around the flat clutching several bunched up images of The Queen. I don’t mind and pretty much we’re cool with whatever you want to put where. Even in the trash can which I now know to check. But we still haven’t found your one gorgeous navy high top rain boot your dad bought for your brother years ago in Spain. Daddy put them on you, turned his back for maybe one minute, and one of the boots disappeared. Our flat isn’t that big. I know where everything is. Oh you are a tricky one, Simes.
And YOU’RE WALKING! I mean, that’s the most exciting thing of all. It happened I guess with a step here and a step there and who really knows the official beginning of these things. But I had heard rumors you were walking and I saw it with my very own eyes on the 19th of August 2012, when you were 13 months old and one week, and we were at Regent’s Park trying for a picnic on kind of a crappy, overcast day. And you just toddled towards me with about five steps, beaming, and it ruled. And now you kind of totally walk. Still like a drunken old man but getting steadier and more confident every day. I had wished for this. I didn’t with your brosky because he was my first and I got lucky and he was like a teenager when he started walking. But you’re my second and I need you to keep up.
You’re tricky and krazy and fearless. You’ve always been the youngest kid on the playground equipment. Daddy says Jonah is going to be in music or an engineer when he grows up and you’re going to be a Streetfighter. I capitalized it because how can you not. I hope you’re not a Streetfighter but you know I just want you to be happy. And legal. And safe. That’s cool, right?
You fear very little except lots of other people trying to pick you up. You still have an attachment to me and if someone else is around outside the immediate family, you have to be able to see me too. Sometimes just someone walking in our front door can make you go ugly face and cry. Even some of the greatest Streetfighters in history have wanted their mamas, Simy Soomy.
I’m way lucky to be yours.
It’s true that you’re my sunshine.