I don't know if any of you readers follow the mommy blogging movement. But the more I read and hear, the more it seems like people are cashing in on their children by bemoaning parenthood, by talking about the extreme measures of oblivion required to stay sane throughout a child's life. I know that Kellen is only a year and a half, but I can also assure you that he is a challenge at this age (two year molars combined with a child who wants and doesn't understand that we don't always get what we want- F.U.N.!). Anyhow, I thought it would be nice to start a weekly series of love letters to my son because I want to focus on what I love, and I want him to read my writing one day and know how much I cared for him. I thought about doing this on my mom blog, but I'm busy being irreverent and comparing trucks to promiscuous women.
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You are twenty months today, just over a year and a half. (Mommy is going to stop counting in months now because twenty months is becoming a little difficult to convert to years, Calculus be damned.)
It is almost two years since the fire, which I can hardly believe. You were safe, kicking away in my womb, unsure of what was going on outside your protected world though I'm certain you weren't oblivious to the stress. When you were born I was told by well meaning people that you should take away the pain from the fire, that I had joy and you were all that mattered. You didn't take away my sorrow. And I'm glad. I don't ever want you to feel like your role in life is to save me from myself, to protect ME, to bring me joy. I am your mom. That's my job. And even in that, I'm certain I will fail, but it will be ok.
I have watched in wonderment as you have grown, waiting for you to take on a personality all your own, hoping that maybe you would absorb some of your dad's easy-going nature and leave behind the intensity of my family. My genes are strong, apparently, as is your will. I know from my own life that your strength of opinion will carry you though. Don't be ashamed of your intensity.
I am amazed by your willingness to explore and be adventurous. You got that from your dad. I sometimes wish you would have more fear when it comes to leaping off the top stairs, secure in your belief that I will, in fact, catch you. I might not always be there, and I don't want you to hurt too badly when you learn what it's like to fall.
You are an amazing child. Your blue eyes captivate nearly everyone. You may not love your hair as you get older (I don't love mine- I get it!), but it is beautiful. When people compliment your hair, learn to say, "Thank you" instead of making excuses as to why it sucks.
Kellen, know that you are loved. I have loved you from the day I learned that I was pregnant. And I will continue loving you long after my soul has left this body. You are my son.