This love letter to my son comes just a couple weeks after he turned a year and a half old. Honestly though, it feels like he has been with us since forever. I probably take his babyhood for granted. Devoting a bit of time to write out his love letters seems even more prudent then, because the memories of his early years will very soon be lost to new memories we make together.
One thing is for sure: I adore this baby boy of mine…
Why am I so surprised that you’ve turned into a big little boy? This month you turned 18 months and I am shocked – shocked that my son is half way to his second birthday, shocked that my last baby will leave toddlerhood in 6 short months, shocked that just this past weekend, someone dared tell me that you aren’t a baby anymore. How could they not see that you will forever be my baby?
Before we had Alina, I had hoped our first child would be a boy. I thought the attributes of the oldest child were better suited for one. Alas, your sister was destined to be our first and you, our baby. However, only recently have I come to understand how perfectly designed our family legacy is. You are strong and determined, you don’t need many cuddles, you assert yourself and, yet, I get to hold you extra close and smother you with the special love a mother has for her very last baby. You get that extra special love from me, and I believe your personality benefits from it. You, my sweet baby boy, really blossom under my focused and affectionate love. I think my love is molding you. I’m proud of that.
At your 18 month check up, you weighed a lot and were very tall. I feel like the worst mom ever because I didn’t write your measurements down and now I’ve forgotten entirely. I know that you jumped up in height and are now in the 90th% and are holding steady in weight at 85th%. You are a big boy and very solid. Perfect football build, if your mama allowed you to play the dreadful sport. There I said it – no football allowed. But that’s for another post.
You are communicating more and more everyday. Just last week, I taught you to say “I love you”, which sounds like “I wuv wu”. Probably because you mimic me, but you always say it in a very low, rumbly, man voice. I think it’s so funny, and so much like my grandfather. Papi was my old, brute Cuban grandfather, yelling his adoration at me from afar. “Te quiero, carajo” or “Da mi un beso, cabrona” he’d say. Don’t translate those words because they aren’t good ones. Even while yelling and cursing at me, I laughed him off and knew so deep inside that he adored me. I loved that old man. More and more, you remind me of him… which is strange because he left us long before you came. In raising you, a son I wasn’t sure I’d know how to raise, I am grateful for that sense of connection to a man I knew so well and loved so uniquely. You aren’t a mystery to me at all, after all.
I have a lot of hopes for you, sweet boy. But mostly, because I am a more seasoned mom, I just hope to relish in the last few months of your babyhood. Before the joys of kidhood seep fully into our house, having not just taken your sister but you as well, I hope to just breathe in these moments. I see Alina flourishing and growing, and you just bouncing along right behind her. I know these next few months will fly by if I don’t start paying full attention. And you deserve every bit of my attention.
I love you, my son. I love your laugh and how your eyes sparkle. I love your big, yummy lips that only recently learned how to purse together to give me a respectable kiss. I love that you know mama gets more love than anyone else – you already take such good care of me.
Te quiero, mi Papi chulo. For as long as you remain my baby, I will be…