Dear Brodie: Happy Birthday!

Dear Brodie,

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

You, little one, are TWO today.

It’s been eight months since my last letter. Remember? The one where I begged you to stop screaming? The one where I threatened to throw you in Pops’ studio until you were quiet? Well, it’s been quite the eight months and you have, indeed, stopped screaming.

Thanks so much for that.

You have replaced the screaming with all kinds of other good stuff. Okay, well, mostly good stuff. You do say, “Dammit” and “Nooo!” an awful lot. (This, really, is my fault considering those are the two words you hear me say the most)But mostly you sing. And talk. And laugh and play and giggle. You really are too cute, even when you’re trying your best to be rotten.

You like your Bubba the most. He’s the first person you ask for when you wake up in the morning and the last person you say, “Night” to before you are all tucked into bed. He likes you back. I know sometimes it doesn’t feel like it, what with the, “Brodie, go away and leave me alooonnneee!” and similar things he’s always yelling at you. But, trust me, not only as your mom but as an older sibling, he really does like you.

Bubba going to kindergarten has turned out to be pretty cool for you and me. We’ve gotten a lot of time to get to know each other better. I know I was a little worried about it at first, worried how we would do without Bubba around as a buffer, but we’ve actually done better than okay. We have a system. A pretty good one, I think. One that includes starting the day with coffee creamer in your milk. You like Crème Brule the best, like me, but you’ll settle for French Vanilla in a pinch.

You are very routine oriented, unlike your big brother, and as hard as I tried to fight it, I’ve actually gotten a lot better at the routine thing myself.

Thanks so much for that.

The last eight months have also brought out a sweetness in you that is hard to ignore.  Although, most of the time when you’re being sweet, it is accompanied by an apology. I must say that along with “Dammit” and “Nooo!” you say, “Sorry” quite a bit. We all forgive you but, eventually, some of us are going to start hitting you back. Enjoy being little while it lasts. Any day now, I’m going to start turning my head and letting your brother handle things for himself. It’s probably good that you’re teaching him how to be a fighter, too. He’s going to need all the help he can get. You’re cute, but you’re still a bruiser.

I thought that I would feel differently about you turning two. Sad, maybe? Rushed. Like, the time went by too fast. The truth is I don’t. It didn’t. I like you at two. You’re fun and sassy and a riot to be around. I love hanging out in the car with you, windows down, Gaga blaring, Dum Dum in your mouth for the ride to pick up Bubba. I love playing outside with you, picking flowers, playing with snails, watching you scoot yourself around on a bike that’s too big, but that you’ll be riding without training wheels before your brother. I love that you aren’t a baby anymore. You’re easier now that you can talk to me, tell me what you want, understand the concept of “Give me a minute” and “Coffee first, then outside”. I love that you are such a good “helper”. I love that you make me beg for hugs and kisses. I love that as much as you want to do everything yourself, you’re still okay with letting me help you. “Thank you Mommy” you say when I help you put on your clothes, button your jammies or pull on your coat.

I love that you love to go and that you’ve taught me how to be better at going. As long as we’re moving, you’re happy. I’ve lost almost 40 pounds in the last year trying to keep up with you.

Thanks so much for that.

I’ve learned a lot in the last two years. A lot about you. A lot about me. A lot about how to be a mother to you and your brother at the same time. I like the kind of mother I’m turning out to be to you. We’re not perfect, you and I, but we’ve done a pretty good job so far.

You’re an alright kid, Brodie Kevin, and I wouldn’t trade you in for anything, no matter how many times a day I threaten to drop you off at Safe Surrender. Let’s stay two for a little while, okay? I kind of like it here.

Happy birthday, monster. I sure do love you. And no, you can’t have jelly beans for breakfast. I don’t care if it is your birthday…

Alright, fine. But only a few.

Love,

Mom