Dear Brock:
This is a short note to remind myself of the little, beautiful things I see each day in you.
Tonight, while out for a short walk with your dad and me, you found a leaf that had fallen to the ground. You picked it up, and threw it in the air, over your head, and watched it flutter to the green grass… then repeated. Each time, you exclaimed as the leaf left your hand, “airplane! airplane!”
Precious.
I love getting a glimpse into your imagination, and seeing these little hints that you might just be starting to pretend. Whatever it is, it feels like a piece of your little spirit coming out – and it’s exciting to me, to see what’s exciting to you. I seem to want to capture all these moments in a bottle – to remember your openness and complete freedom of thought before you grow so much that inhibitions begin to take over – but I can’t, and it grieves me. Maybe someday you’ll understand this feeling.
Not too much time passed before you needed to head to bed. Your dad got you changed and ready, and after you wouldn’t settle down, I went back up to tuck you in again. I covered you with one of the sweet little lightweight blankets your Great Aunt Doris made for you. This sometimes makes you chuckle, and it did again tonight. You told me about the parts I just covered: “Feet. Legs. Both.” So happy and proud to communicate.
As I closed the door, I got another “night night” and a little “love ooo” out of you. It was adorable – and appreciated, after you’d said it to your dad and to grandma on the phone just yesterday. (You said it to me months before, but only once!)
Today was a good day. No stress, no anger, not too much fatigue. Just a nice, relaxing day, with a lovely end as well.
Thanks, buddy. I love you.
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