A letter to my son, at 22 and a half months

On January 3, I got back from an eleven-day trip visiting various family members in three different cities. You haven't heard from me since then because I had a sick toddler who was trapped in the house because of the weather, and I've been recovering from traveling. Believe me when I tell you that I have some stories coming about our trip... especially because the first part of it was me flying alone with a toddler. Oh, man... there will be stories. But first, this is a letter I started at 5:30am ish the morning we left to come home. Lucas had a pretty bad cough for most of our trip, and he woke himself and me up at 4:15am with a coughing fit, and then couldn't/wouldn't go back to sleep. Dan was sleeping on a mattress on the floor, so I brought Lucas into bed with me, and we talked. For an hour. I was sleep deprived and not looking forward to a day of traveling and had a slight cold, but I actually ended up kind of enjoying it. So... here's what I was thinking while talking to my toddler in what should've been the middle of the night.

This picture was not taken the morning I wrote this letter. But you probably already figured that out.

Dear Lucas,

It's too early to be awake, and the first thoughts I'm having with my eyes still closed are "Please, please let him go back to sleep" followed closely by "Please, please don't let him throw up from coughing... again." Yesterday I was able to prolong a too-short nap by bringing you into bed with me, where you slept cuddled up against me for another two hours. But this morning that plan doesn't work. You are awake, and you want to talk.

You were such an early talker, and now you know so many words. Words that you want to use all the time. You narrate everything you're doing, prefacing each statement with your own pronunciation of your name: Ducas. As you wiggle happily in bed with me, you keep up a running commentary. "Ducas Mama sleeping!" (Even though we clearly aren't. Heads on the pillow is enough for you.) "Sleeping 'gether! Pillow! Blanket!" After you get tired of being still, you move all around the bed, cautioning yourself with "Careful, Ducas! Careful, Ducas!" every time you get too close to the edge.

You say "hungry-gy?" And when I tell you, no, it's not time to eat, it's time to sleep, you respond with, "Yep! Why?" (I'm pretty sure you don't actually know what why means yet, but it doesn't stop you from repeating the phrase "what? why?" on a regular basis.) You decide that the only way you can be comfortable is if your arms are around my neck and your entire torso is on my face, and when you pull on the headboard and then declare it to be "heavy," I am too muffled for you to hear me shush you.

And around 4:45 when I've finally given up on getting any more sleep before the alarm goes off at 5:20, it occurs to me that the older ladies who say "enjoy every moment" (in a tone that indicates that they've definitely forgotten what it feels like to be vomited on) might be on to something. Because - although you will hopefully not always wake me up at ridiculous hours - you will also outgrow the desire to be held in my arms for hours on end. And right now, before the sun or any well-rested human is awake, I can hold you as close as I want for as long as I want. Right now, I am your favorite person who ever lived. And when I remember that this is fleeting, I can enjoy it in spite of the lack of sleep.

I love you, "Ducas." I'm so glad I'm your mommy. But I think I should warn you that between how much you talk and how much I talk, there's a good chance that we might drive your daddy crazy.

Love,
Mommy

Feel free to click here out of sympathy for my lack of sleep.