Dear Jude,
This letter to you is late. Three days late, to be exact. While I would like to say that I simply haven’t had time to write over the past few days, the truth is that the past few days have been miserable for you and me. I’ve been burnt out that I thought I’d be doing you a real disservice to write to you while I was feeling so low. Yesterday and today have been better, so I decided to sit down with a(nother) cup of coffee and give this writing thing a go.
You’re officially two and a quarter years old. Some days I look at you and can’t believe how big you are and how old you look. Papa and I can’t leave breakables near the edge of the kitchen counter anymore; your reach is too great. For a while I thought that leaving the bottom two shelves of the bookshelves free would be enough. Then you showed me just how wrong I was by ripping the cover off of one of Papa’s books. Now you have three shelves dedicated to your books. For some reason, you don’t rip those.
People keep saying that summer has been on the cool side, here in Chicago. I don’t agree. We’ve had some really beautiful (and HOT) days this year. Though, to be fair, on Friday I had to dress you in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. Really though, Friday was the exception. And so was Saturday. But besides those two days, we’ve been enjoying some really great weather. We’ve recently started visiting a playground a few blocks away from us. That park has been recently renovated and has a new play structure and a rubberized ground. You love playing at that park, and I love taking you there because you don’t get nearly as dirty as you do if we go to Touhy Park.
It seems redundant to say that your vocabulary is growing, as is your understanding of the spoken word. Likewise, I feel like every month I point a new feat of athleticism you’ve performed. It’s normal, I suppose, that you keep growing and learning, but I’m still amazed by it. Also, your hair is long enough to pull back into a ponytail. That amazes me as well.
I hope that our next month together is more enjoyable than these past few days have been. I also hope that the rest of your two-year molars come in quickly because I suspect they’re a large contributing factor to your crankiness. Whatever happens though, Monkey, try to remember that I love you. Even when I get frustrated and angry, I love you. Even when you’re whining and crying and screaming, I love you. Nothing could ever change that fact.
Love,
Mama
