Dear Max,

I look at you splashing in the bath tub, with a single bubble dotting your forehead, and it strikes me that you are now balanced between the end of “two”, and the beginning of “three”.  Toddlers are two.  Babies are two.  Tiny, babbling, barely emerging.  Speaking gibberish and being sort-of oblivious, that’s two.  But YOU, my boy, are almost three.

In my mind, “three” is the magic time when everything changes.  Three is for pull-ups and potties, and questions and conversations are supposed to replace answers and parroting one-word statements.  To see you on the cusp of three, makes me float somewhere up on the ceiling and look down at you to wonder “How is it possible that this beautiful, wise, kind, hilarious boy is actually mine??”  How is it possible?

Yesterday, for the first time, you had an actual conversation where you asked lots of questions.  Of course you already speak in sentences, share what’s on your mind, and request a number of things (cookies, play-dough, Fireman Sam…anything really.)  We ask you about your day and you respond with an answer.  You ask me in the morning “What we DO today?” and I respond with an answer.  But this was different.  You were talking to Baubee on the phone, and everytime she answered your question you would pause, think about her answer, and then ask her another (still relevant) question.  “Are you in San Diego Baubee?”  Yes, Max, I’m at work.  “Oh.  Is Zaydee at work?” Yes, he’s working at home.  “On the computer?”  Yes, on the computer.  “Are you on the airplane?” No, but I’m going to see you soon.  “Did you forget your suitcase?”  A dialogue!  Like a real BIG boy.  Asking, answering, giving thoughtful responses.

It is not just your body that is growing big and strong, but your heart and your mind.

As I drove toward Main St. the other day you pointed out the window and said “Mommy…what is THAT?” “Ummmm….it’s a….power station I guess.” (Note to self, study up on all sorts of random things that a little boy would need to know about). “POW?” you repeated. “Yes, it’s where the electricity lives before it goes through the wires.” “To our HOUSE?!” you asked. “Well, yes. That’s exactly right.”  “What does it look like??” Ummm….

Max, I love you because you’re curious. Your curiousity wiggles free from your brain and meets up with ingenuity and imagination, until you can breathe new life into something and make it work for you. This heating pad?

Well shouldn’t it be able to work as a remote control for your car?


I love you because you’re kind. You feed Teddy your peas when it’s time for dinner. OK, maybe that’s more crafty than kind… You notice when other children are sad and you let me know.  “Mommy, that boy sad.  He miss he Daddy.”

You have amazing style. For a two almost-three year old.

You are the best parts of both your Daddy and I.

You are confident. You walk with swagger. You do! Look….

You make me smile

The other night you came up to me, put your hand on your tummy and bowed. “Mommy, can I please have this dance?” you asked, and then you put one hand on my shoulder and one up in the air for me to hold.

And we danced. And I cried inside. Big, happy tears of joy. Because you have changed my life in immeasurable ways, and because you make my heart dance every time I look at your sweet face. Every minute of the last two almost-three years, you have made me complete. You are my best, sweet love. And I am so looking forward to the dances yet to come.



6 Replies to “I Love You Because…”

  1. I can barely write a comment as I am lost in a fantasy of me and my son and our love affair. You can’t help but think how amazing these little beings are when you read a post like this. Max sounds amazing and I am sure that is largely due to his amazing mother. Beautiful.

    1. Thank you Carinn….you are so sweet! There really is something special about the relationship between little boys and their moms, isn’t there? I never expected it, but it’s pretty wonderful.

      1. There IS something special about that relationship. Which makes me laugh when I think of the moment of — let’s call it confusion (not disappointment) — when I learned my first child was a boy at my 20 week sonogram. I could never have imagined this bond we would share!

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