To my littlest 23-month old,
Nat! You’re not so baby any more, are you! Where did all the time go? I now hold in my arms the same sticky, happy baby, but I can’t cradle you like I used to. I can’t coo to you like I used to. I can’t ask you to stay in my arms forever like I used to. Nope, not any more.
You’ve got a mind of your own and feet that can fly. You’ve got tantrums that are too cute to cane (I have to step up the discipline soon, son!) and garbled babbling too funny to hear. I’ve officially experienced the Terrible Twos again for the third time with you, although yours is so much more manageable compared to your sister’s, because all you really need – for every tantrum – is to be carried and soothed by me. “Mama…mama… mama…” you call. That word’s an emergency bell, a cry for comfort and a loving term of endearment for your favourite person. I hope this word remains these to you for as long as you live to remember me by.
You’re one cheeky boy in the house. You’ve done everything I’ve never imagined that could be done. You’ve stuck your hand in the box of Persil washing powder when no one was looking, leaned your head close to the moving fan so that your hair gets wind, and peered in the toilet bowl when you see your brother peeing (and played with his urine subsequently like you do at water play). You watch your siblings gargle and spit, and you never hesitate to show them you can do the same, and more – with the bath water that comes from the shower, the juice you drink and the bubble soap you play with. You throw things around like a shot put athlete just to see how things fly and end up wrecking folded clothes, spilling drinks and ruining dinners. You stuff things in every possible corner of the house and till this day we’re finding used tissues, Lego blocks and craft pom poms behind doors and furniture. You take your poop-filled diaper out to have a sensory experience of what you’ve passed, to your own amusement but to our horror and disgust; and you laugh like the experience was the funniest thing you’ve ever had in your whole life!
Yes, I’ve just told the whole world what a mischief you are, and that you’ve played with both poop and pee, Nat.
You are one smart little fella who mimic your sibling well, and as a result, you can sit on your own to fix jigsaws, “read” a book and construct Lego blocks because you’ve watched them do so. You can sing songs just by copying their tune and you’re the parrot that’s always flying around, repeating after what your siblings are doing. You join them in their pretend play and you’re the most cooperative patient / student / child / animal / slave I’ve ever seen. Oh the things you would do to play with them, you cute little thing!
It sure is fun being the youngest eh!
And it sure is fun to be watching you grow, hearing you talk and looking at you do stuff, although most of the time I’m also hyperventilating. I pray that you’ll always stay safe despite your mischief and that you will continue to bring laughter to the people around you, my love.
You know that I love you to the moon and back, right?