23 Months

Dear Patrick: You are 23 months old!

My sweet Jesus how in the world did you get so big, so old? Was it only a year ago that I was holding your perfect baby hands to help you walk? Was it two years ago that I waddled everywhere certain that you would be "late" (you weren't, thank goodness)? Was it three years ago that I despaired at ever having you?


Yes, I guess it has been. It's the story of my parenting you: struggling to keep up as you blaze your way through my careful plans, my schedule, and my need to sit down for five minutes. You are on the cusp of so many changes, and you just want to do it all. Yourself. Unless you want me to do it, and you want me to do it right now.


You continue to surprise me with your ability to figure stuff out. And you are one strong kid, meaning I have to have my A-Game on at the playground. Or else I look away for five seconds and you are half-way up the ladder that I was SURE you were too small for. Dang, you're fast. You run, jump, climb, slide, and crawl your way around anything unfamiliar with little fear. You are pretty strong as well, not just pulling your little body up the jungle gym but digging with the shovel. The big one. The heavy kind you get at Home Depot. That's your new favorite outdoor toy. For a while you just drug it around the patio. I'm now quite used to the screech of steel on concrete. Now you want to dig with it. You're pretty good. Dirt actually ends up on the shovel. I hang out to make sure you don't chop your toes off.

We took a trip south to visit family this month. I'd forgotten that stranger anxiety can exert itself again. After four days, I remember. You had a blast with Grandma, Mimi, Gigi, Poppa, Uncles and Aunts, Craig (who was a personal favorite after he showed you how to use the hose sprayer), and assorted pets, but you needed to have Mommy around most of the time. It's hard to be patient, sometimes, when I want to show you off and family want to love on you, but you have your own needs that might conflict. My sweet boy, we will work very hard to remember this. Or else all my family pictures will look like this:

You are such a stereotypical boy, but it does make it easy to buy you presents. Balls, trucks, buses, anything that makes loads of noise, and remote controls. You have a sweet love-hate relationship with Miss M down the block (you love to use her stuff, hate it when she uses yours), and you follow the big boys around with love in your eyes. They are usually quite good with you, especially as all these kids get older, but they aren't as happy with you when you interfere with their game of "Washer and Steam Dryer."


Your Daddy and I both miss you very much when we can't be with you, and this seems to get stronger as you get older and your personality gets stronger. It helps that your communication skills are growing so well. We ask you pretty complicated sentences, and you can make your opinion known. You know how to procrastinate bedtime. You still aren't a huge talker in understandable words, but you are getting there. I'm sure that you can say "two." And if all else fails, you do a great walrus impression.


Here you are with my youngest brother, John Michael. He's 12 years younger than me, and I loved acting like a little mommy when he was growing up. Your middle name is in tribute to both your Daddy and your Uncle. But when you are together, I keep calling you by the wrong name!

I can't believe you are almost two years old. It's all too fast. I love you my sweet boy.
Love
Mommy