Dear Eliot: Two Years, Eleven Months

Dear Eliot,

You are getting so close to three....  Just one more month.  When I hold your brother and then look over at you, I cannot believe that you were once a little baby too.  You have seemed like such a big boy for so long, and you are always doing or saying something outrageously funny and full of personality.

This might not make any sense at all to you, but I hope that I never forget it.  You are so into the ending scene of Jurassic Park.  Like, it's ridiculous.  In case no one cares about Jurassic Park in the future, let me explain that the movie ends with the people about to be eaten by raptors.  These guys have been terrorizing everyone the whole movie.  Then, out of nowhere, the t-rex eats the raptors, which allows the people to escape just in time.  You get so stoked on it.  You watch it on our laptops and phones all the time and scream, "The t-rex rescues them!"  When we see someone that you haven't seen in a while, you asked to show them the clip.  You impersonate it with growls and snarls.  You love Jurassic Park.  You love t-rexes.  And I love how you say "raptors"--it always comes out as "rappers".  So good!

You love to play dinosaurs too.  You ask me to pretend to be a t-rex so that you can hide.  Sometimes I am a "mad" t-rex.  Other times I am a "nice" t-rex.  You love to stomp around the house and roar.  It's so fun to watch your imagination grow.

I've spent a bit of time lately thinking back to a year ago and about how much has changed.  We've come a long way, kid, you and me.  I remember last year, we took you to see the lights at the Botantical Gardens for Christmas.  You loved them, but when it was time to go, you cried the whole way home--and it is not a short drive.  This year, you loved them again, but when it was over, you asked why and then accepted it.  You didn't cry at all.  We're making it through this thing called growing up, and I think we're doing OK between the two of us. 

I'm always worried that I am scarring you or failing miserably, but the thing is, I know we're fine when I tuck you in at night.  You say the sweetest things to me.  You tell me that you love me "so much," that I am "so special to [you]," and that I am pretty.  I don't think you would say such sweet things if I were doing the worst job ever as your parent.  You're such a big kid these days.

Every day, I am so thankful and proud of you as a big brother.  Jack is learning to take your toys, which is hard on you at times, but you are working through it.  You are gentle and share on your terms.  When it isn't your idea, you are a bit taken back at first, yet you come around.  You love taking care of Jack and reading to him.  And my favorite part of seeing you two together is when you don't know I'm looking.  Sometimes Jack will be crying in his crib, and I might run to grab something real quick.  Often, you sneak into his room, turn on his light, hold his hand through the slats in the crib, and assure him, "Jacky, it's OK.  It's all right.  I'm here."  These are the things I say to him, too.  And you know what?  He stops crying.  You comfort him so well, and seeing your relationship grow just makes my heart explode.

I love watching you grown and how observant you are.  So often, you want to bring the world along with you.  Even if we are going for a short car ride, you want to bring more toys than is reasonable.  And when we go outside, you want to collect the sticks, gumballs,stray feathers, and leaves.  On the beach, you collect shells.  You find the tiniest shell and give it to me to put in my pocket for you, entrusting me to keep it safe.  You are amazing, Eliot Thomas.  I want to live up to the image you have of me.  I want to give you all the best.  I want to see the world the way you do.  You're so smart, funny, beautiful, and wise.