I keep thinking of this as your first Christmas. It's not. Obviously. But your current level of enthusiasm for life makes it all so fresh and new. We have the house all decorated and you just love it. You have commandeered all the stuffed toys, and you walk around the house with your arms crammed full of snowmen and dogs wearing hats. The bottom half of our Christmas tree is in a permanent state of dismantle. The child-safe ornaments are scattered throughout the house, inside your dump trucks or in a pile on the couch. The chocolate advent calender is a big hit, but I'm also hoping you'll like the holiday books I've spread about downstairs. Naturally, the Dora book is a hit. Damn Dora and her map, anyways.
You can say Patrick's name so clearly, and I adore hearing you call his name. The other day you brought him your string cheese to open. "Help me, Patrick." You are true siblings, making each other crazy while delighting in the company of the other. You argue with him about the chosen TV show. The correct answer is Diego. To which Patrick answers, "We are NOT watching Diego!" Then I silently apologize to my Mom, yet again, for the 15 years of bickering she endured.
Someday soon I'll cut your hair. You look like the proverbial ragamuffin but I love it. Just like I love your mismatched clothes, Diego snow books, messy face, and padded cloth diaper tush. I love that when I nurse you, you are my baby for a few minutes.Love you!
Mommy
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