You are something. I am always on the verge of not being able to handle it. Your cheeks. Your partially toothy grin. Your hair that is always this way and that. Your walk. Waddle really. Your giggle. Your somehow-sweetly mischievous nature. The fact that you don’t like strawberries. Strawberries! The way you still – still – still – wake up from sleeping and don’t think to make a peep. You sit or stand for eternity waiting for someone to come get you. And yet you growl and grunt and yell and maniacally point if Jonah has even one variation different from yours at a meal. Priorities, I guess.
Your father, in his infinite wisdom aka not responsible for the feeding and bedtime routines, taught you how much fun it is to throw objects out of the bath. Nothing in life now delights you as much. So you have mimicked the game with food, books, toys and cups filled with water. It’s so hard to rain on your parade because you are so outrageously cute. Besides, I am always so busy inflicting hurricanes on your brother.
You love brushing your teeth. I didn’t know that was a thing that could happen.
You say mamamamamamamamamama and when someone asks you to point to your head or happens to say the word head in passing, your face illuminates with joy as you touch your head over and over again. It’s your trick and you’re not letting anyone miss it.
Simon, I’m still pretty new at all this so I hope you will go easy enough on me. I am bracing myself for life raising a daredevil. A child who chases animals and crawls through water fountains and stands up in the stroller and proudly beams at passers-by hoping they will all note your accomplishment born in the spirit of delightful disobedience. You’re like a teenage boy at prom sticking his head out of the sun roof in a limo. The driver told you all not to. He said it was forbidden and he would kick you out if you did it. But it takes him a while to enforce the rule and in the intervening minutes no one on Earth is better than you. No one is having more fun. Everyone wants to be in that limo. At that party. With that guy.
Just the other day I opened the door of our flat when I thought someone had buzzed downstairs with a package for us. I sprinted down just one flight of stairs – a few seconds really – to see if anything was left. When I came back in the door Jonah and I couldn’t find you. I searched every room. I called your name and every time I did I would hear your happy squeaks in response. But you weren’t to be found anywhere. I started panicking. Did you get closed into a closet, shut into the dryer, buried under a pile of crap? Something much worse and more terrible? SIMON! Squeak squeak. SIMON! Squeak squeak. My heart was racing and I was frantic. Jonah was yelling too because he could sense my heightened state. SIMON SIMON SIMON!!!! we called.
It took me forever to find you, because it never occurred to me it was a possibility, but something made me go up two flights of stairs in the building and there you were. Just hanging out. So filled with joy at your rapid ascent in life. Do you know it took me months to teach your brother to confidently go up stairs on his own? How was I supposed to know you would be instantaneously self-taught.
What other tricks will you reveal to me while my life is flashing before my eyes?
If it’s any consolation, the life that flashed before my eyes was a really good one. So thank you for that.
I love you, Simers.