Now, well, now you're a towheaded bundle of energy who occasionally clenches his fists, but that's typically followed by a tantrum over the batteries in your train choosing such an inopportune moment to die, or because they're clutching the linty lone fruit snack found shoved in the couch crack that you don't want me to take.
You're currently in the "trains, cars, trucks, tractors, boats, big bus!" all things that transport goods and people, move, and have wheels that go round and round stage. Sometimes, if we pass a school, we'll drive through the bus parking lot just so you can make this patented, "I Saw a Bus Face!"
Then you proceed to tell you us, "Look out the winnnnooow!!" and repeatedly yell the word bus until we've long left the lot. The same thing usually happens with tractors and trucks, but not with quite as much fervor. The only thing that excites you more than a bus is a train. When we took you to the transportation museum a few weeks ago, it was quite possibly the happiest day of your life because not only did you get to see many trains, you got to ride one. A couple of days later, you got to ride (and drive!) Rick and Cassandra's boat.
We kept the transportation theme in mind when we moved you over to your big boy room from the nursery, too. Now you're in a regular bed instead of the crib. It's a good thing, too, because your extra-long body just didn't fit in it anymore. After throwing in the books you read before falling asleep, blue blankey, Mr. Puppy, and Dikkie Dik, this was the result:
See? Your crib was turning into a game of Tetris. You transitioned over to the new room and bed quite nicely though. You were in that bed in a weekend with only one bad night.
Two things that haven't changed since you were a wee little lad are your love for books and your undying loyalty to your Boppy. We have already begun preparing the speech we'll have to give your future college roommates regarding Boppy expectations; there's no resting your head on Wesley's Boppy. Don't place it on the couch in an incorrect position. Heaven forbid you rest your feet on it. I'm sure the list will expand as you grow to understand more about property rights, personal space, and attachment, but let's draw the line at a Boppy tattoo just because it will then always be with you. I'm almost hesitant to post a couple pictures of a younger you with the Boppy, since after looking at older pictures together the other day, you jealously had to comment, "That's MY Boppy," in those with Baby Wesley.
When it's time for bed, we don't say, "Let's go to bed, " or something similar. Papa and I always say, "Let's go pick out some books to read." You readily respond, "Get my books," and we find some books for you to peruse before falling asleep. Some nights you already have heavy eyelids, and you barely brush your thumb over the corner of a cardboard page before nodding off, but other nights Papa and I have to contain our laughter from the living room as you loudly make up words to accompany the pictures or sing your ABCs for Chicka Chicka Boom Boom or "The Wheels on the Bus" for one of your many truck books.
Sometimes when I look at you, all I see is your father. The build, the height, oh yeah, this circa 1985 face:
But the love for reading? When I find you quietly sitting in the corner with a book or pulling the books off the shelves in your room (or at the library--don't worry, LRB, I'm there to fix those), my heart steals a line from Dr. Seuss and grows three sizes because that's a reflection of me. As a lifelong reader, it's something I love, but as an English teacher, someone with a Masters degree in Library Science, a parent, it's something I think is invaluable. Your life will undeniably be better because books are in it. Don't forget that. When you're old enough to thank us, do it, but don't forget to thank school, too, because there are many times I see you choosing books over toys as I watch from the window when collecting you in the afternoon. Plus, it's helpful to remember that when I'm not letting you watch Thomas the Train, you spent the first 18 months of your life not able to watch television at all. You will survive. Grab a book.
You have grown so much in the past year, but you've especially blossomed since March when you moved to the two year old class. Your vocabulary consists of more than just words; you create coherent sentences. Sometimes I groan inwardly (other times, outwardly) at the little smart remarks coming from you because if you're already making these contextually correct comments as a toddler, we're in for it at a later age. On the other hand, anyone who knows me, knows that I love a good pun, so I usually have to work really hard to contain my laughter. Please refrain from greeting the old lady doctor with, "Heeeeey, Baby," when she says hi next time we're at the pediatrician though. Okay? You count to ten in English and to six in Dutch; however, no matter what we say, you stubbornly insist counting to five in Spanish is uno, quatro, cinco. Some words you only know in Dutch, but sometimes when your father tries to teach you new words, you tell him the English word like you're teaching him something.
No human is perfect. I don't have the expectations that you'll grow up without fault, and I don't assume that your father does either. We love you more than you can possibly ever imagine. Keep that in mind as your begin a year that has such a foreboding name as "The Terrible Twos." Enter age two with the eagerness to learn and the willingness to try that you've lived your life thus far.
And do it with that beautiful smile on your face.
.
