I hope you know, when you read this someday, that everything I've written here is for you. Not everything is addressed to you, and not everything is about you. But it is all for you. So that one day, when you are tempted to believe that I do not love you because of some argument we've had or some issue we disagree upon, then, you may look to all that I have written, and know that I love you more than I could ever tell you. So much so that the thought of you being angry with me someday has brought tears to my eyes, even imagining it. You are my world, you and that amazing father of yours. My world revolves around making the two of you happy.
I am in a contemplative mood as I write this, tonight, on the eve of the seventeen-month anniversary of your birth. The day has been cool, though not as cold as it has been recently. The fog of this morning gave way to an early thunderstorm this evening. As you splashed in your bath tonight, the thunder boomed outside, and you growled back at it, reveling in the conversation you were having with Mother Nature herself.
And that moment described you in such perfect detail. You are unafraid of the world - in fact, you view it as your playground. One giant world, meant to be climbed, and stomped on, and growled at. You take such delight in it all. Giggling at the dog when he licks your face. Squealing with joy when someone laughs at your antics. Bursting out with a jubilant "Hi!" whenever someone new appears. You view the world with such utter exuberance, that it is impossible to be unhappy around you.
Until, of course, the storm clouds appear on your face. Every once in awhile, something upsets you, or frustrates you, and you let the world know. Your screams of anguish when you hear the dreaded, "No" could bring any trained soldier to his knees. Your sad little pouty face, and the tears you squeeze out when you cannot express yourself fully break my heart. Everything you do, you do it big.
Tonight, as I rocked you to sleep, I suddenly realized that your little body has long since outgrown my arms. Sure, you can fold yourself up until you still fit perfectly on my chest, but when you decide to stretch, your head resting on my shoulder, your feet drape over my hips. I laughed when I realized I now have to wear you like a Miss America sash, just so you will fit comfortably.
I could go on and on about your accomplishments, your amazing feats of athleticism and intellectualism combining to make you the most amazing toddler that ever lived. But I already do that. Every day, on this blog.
So, instead, I will leave you with this, my wonderful son:
I love you, all the way to the moon -