Well, I did it again — I missed the 24th. This time, though, it was that I actually lost track of what date it really was. I thought today was the 24th. I nearly missed a dentist appointment because of my confusion about dates. Sorry about that.
This has been a very up and down month. There has been good news (that’s currently not mine to share), bad news (that’s also currently not mine to share), tough days, better days… it’s been stressful, but with some wonderful moments.
We had your two-year doctor’s appointment (a little late), and one of my favorite moments was when the doctor said that at this age, you should be using some two- or three-word sentences.
“No, daddy, I want to play with my horsies now.”
A bit more than three words, there.
You are such a sweetheart (at least when you’re fully rested and fed). You were at your first pediatric dentist appointment, and another little boy was crying; you touched his shoulder and said, “Don’t cwy. Itta be awwight.”
You also rocked it at the dentist — you will still demonstrate for us how you hold your mouth open and say “Ahh.”
We have so much fun playing when we all get home; I feel a little guilty that sometimes I get to do all the playing with you while your mother cooks dinner… but other times, I selfishly relish those times and just hope that Mommy has good times with you in the mornings when I’ve already gone off to work. I’m really, really hoping you’re fun in the mornings, and not grumpy like your Daddy tends to be.
We chase each other around (you’ve declared me the “Daddy-monster”). We throw and catch a ball. We build towers and knock them down. We snuggle and read books.
These days are so precious, and they’re going so fast.
I’m almost glad that I’m posting a day late, though. Tonight, you did something amazing.
I was at the dentist and your Mommy had just had a really rough day. You noticed her and said, “You sad, Mommy? You wan ‘Twinkle Stah’?”
And then you serenaded your mother with not only “Twinkle Star,” but also “You Are My Sunshine” and “I See the Moon.” We didn’t know you could sing those two, even though you’ve heard them literally thousands of times.
And you made Mommy feel better.
Sage… I don’t know when you’re going to read these. I guess I technically don’t know IF you’re going to read these. It makes it tough to know, sometimes, what to share with you — because there’s no way to know if it will be age-appropriate. So I couch things in generic terms and I usually don’t address them head-on.
There’s also the fact that I make these letters public, and there are people in my life who would not understand a lot of things I’d want to write. In fact, there are times when I avoid writing things because I’m afraid that some people we dearly love would drive your mother crazy with questions that they wouldn’t feel comfortable asking me directly.
So, I’ll tell you this sort of obliquely. I hope some day we’ll have this conversation more openly and I’ll be able to explain to you things that you couldn’t possibly understand when you’re little.
I want you to know that I will always be there for you, even if I disagree with you.
My lovely, beautiful, loving child: be who you are. It’s something I’m not always good at, and I really pray that you do better at it than I do.
My other advice: seek out health. Our generation has been trained to eat badly, to sleep badly, to live badly. I see a lot of positives on the horizon for your generation, although they may be hard to identify. I hope that you are healthier than we ever were. We’re trying to make good choices for you now in the hopes of helping you develop good habits. But you’ll have to make choices on your own later. The better choices you make, the better you will feel; I’m really just starting to take that to heart now. I hope you learn it earlier than I did.
I love you so much, Sage. Your mother and I both do. (This past week, you keep repeating, “Daddy loves Sage. Sage loves Mommy. Mommy loves Daddy.” You seem skeptical when I tell you it works the other way as well.)