Dear Gideon,
Five days ago, you threw your last pacifier (known as a “wee” around here) in the garbage can. You did it unbidden, and it followed a rather long weaning process we started about six weeks ago. The pacifiers were becoming a problem, since you kept them firmly in your mouth for hours during the day and were starting to get a little rash around your lips from the collected saliva and dirt.
Plus you talked funny while holding a piece of rubber in between your teeth. Imagine what future dates would have said had you asked them to “kith” you?
Yeah, no kidding. You’re welcome.
Truthfully, you didn’t pick up a pacifier until you were almost ten months old, and it happened then because you were waking up a few times a night to nurse and we thought the pacifier would help wean you off the breast for better sleep. We were right, but then it became a habit. And as habits go, this one made you think that you couldn’t go more than a few hours without that fix, helping to alleviate any anxiety, tiredness or boredom you felt throughout the day.
But this story is remarkable because while the past few days have been tough (like any junkie, you have gone through withdrawal and its been filled with tears directed at everything but the true villain), you’ve stuck to your guns and have emerged on the other side bravely and resolutely. Only once have you asked for the wee, and only after a tiring morning of much outdoor time. I have let you be the person to throw each pacifier (there were six) in the garbage as each one reached its expiration point, and you were very mature in handling the entire experience.
Your father and I have never been prouder, as it is evidence of the incredibly self-possessed person you are becoming. But I must admit it has been a little heart-breaking to watch our two-year-old son walk alone to the garbage, step on the pedal, and toss in the things he has held so dear to his heart. Quite the experience for all of us, I guess.
So now we are “wee-less”, and you are continuing on your path to growing up with hopefully straighter teeth and clearer diction.
Speaking of clearer diction, during the past three months, you have shocked your father and me with the witty and intelligent banter you repeatedly engage in. It’s like you intuitively get how to be social, and can fit yourself right into any conversation being had, whether you’re invited or not.
Your imaginative play skills have skyrocketed, and you spend much time during the day having long conversations with your toys, be they machine, animal or person. You have memorized most of the books you own– not an insignificant feat considering how many there are– and you now read them to us or to yourself. You have also learned the words to many real songs (not just the ones you still like to make up about household items), and can sing more or less on-key.
Great White Way, watch out.
I’m also amazed, as are strangers we meet, at how engaged you are when other people are present, responding to their questions as best you can and offering a greeting and farewell in proper order. I have been complimented several times by complete strangers at how polite and calm you remain while I talk to other adults, a remarkable trait for a person as young as you. I always respond that I am very proud of you, and will be even prouder if you still exhibit this character when you turn thirty.
(Note that I’m glaring fiercely at your future self as I write this, young man.)
So, this week you turn thirty months old and we now march forward to the latter half of your second year. I can hardly believe it. The proverbial statement about time and flight holds true, and my neck hurts from the speed at which it all happens. Despite the bad rap, I actually think the second year of a child’s life is wonderful, filled to the brim with new physical and mental skills that help turn you into an adult, and I will miss this year. The tantrums I can do without, of course, but even when you are at your worst I see the growth that is happening and love that.
And I love you. Keep changing for the better, tigerito, but don’t ever stop being who you are.
Con mucho amor para siempre,
Mami (“Okay, Mama. Okay.”)
