My love, my Jellybean, my Cameron.
Things change here so slowly it seems, and yet when I think about it, so very quickly.
When there is something I wish you would learn to do, each day drags out and success seems an eternity away. For instance, I sure wish you’d learn to go to sleep at bedtime, and so it seems that the weeks and months of listening to you call me every five minutes for an hour after bedtime stretch out. When I wish you would toilet train already, you tantalize me by having a dry day, then pee in my shoes, mere seconds after firmly refusing a trip to the bathroom because you don’t have to go pee. Yep, that happened this evening.
Other things I look back at, and they changed subtly that I barely registered them until the process was complete – but at the same time, with lightning speed.
Just last week I was quietly joking with our neighbours that you had a success rate worse than random when it came to colour naming. One day this was true. The next day you were nailing every colour I asked you, except yellow. You even knew brown, a colour I’d been neglecting in favour of getting you to handle the primaries consistently. I think it’s safe to say that you didn’t inherit your Grandpa’s colour blindness – something you had a fifty percent chance of doing – as you’re just as solid with green and red as you are now with blue and yellow. Except when you’re stubborn and tired of the game, and steadfastly maintain that the green light pole is pink. Very pink.
I haven’t praised you for this one, as I’m afraid to mention it lest you revert. Ba-do-do-do is no longer in your vocabulary. Once ubiquitous, the word meant everything you didn’t have words for, or simply “Stop asking me Mommy!” Something you didn’t know the name of was a ba-do-do-do. Scared? It was the ba-do-do-do over there! The bus driver would announce the Broadway stop, and you’d loudly announce it was Ba-do-do Street. What did you do at daycare today? Bah-do-do-do.
New on the scene is the early rumbling foretelling the volcano about to erupt. First came, “Are you all done, Mommy?” Then “What are you doing?” It’s already happened once … “Why?” Yes, that word, that question, has made a debut. It’s about to become one of your most common words, I think.
You’re poised on the brink of learning your letters, and already have the concept that different letters make different sounds, and those sounds make the words we say. In no time flat, really, you’ll be reading, and a whole world will be yours. Soon you’ll figure out that when you’re counting three rocks, you stop at three, not continue to five then proclaim that you have thirty six rocks.
I’m excited to see what you do then!
I love you, forever and always, and I’m proud of you each and every day!