Oh, when I think about my sweet Owen, how my feelings overflow and get me feeling all verklempt.
Owen, you were my very first baby. And you were a handsome agreeable angel baby. You were a bright spot to me in one of the toughest times of my life. You were my baby BFF. You rival only your father in number of pregnancies endured. You were pretty gracious to me. Thanks for that buddy.
Owen, buddy, you are a morning person. You are the morning person to rival all morning persons. Before I knew anything about parenting, I used to let you get up at 5:45. Ew! Who does that? You wake up raring to go. Bright eyed and bushy tailed. You take great pleasure in knowing how your day will go. “Mommy! I will wake up and then eat waffles and watch Baby Einstein??” You tell me as you wave your hands ecstatically. When you were a baby people used to ask me if you knew baby sign language. Nope, just talks with his hands. You also excel at narrating life. “Daddy, you is wearing pants! Mommy- you are here! Maisy is eating a cookie. Henry is crawling!”
Gosh, you are so smart. You didn’t get it from me! Teaching you is a dream. It really is. Many of my favorite moments with you are sitting at your little blue table, learning shapes or numbers or colors. You’re quick and enthusiastic, as long as we’re not working on your fine motor skills. You hate those.
For a really long time your tantrums could be stopped in their tracks with a hug and a kiss. You’re just that sweet. Now you stare at me, it’s sort of scary, but hey, not everyone can be an angel all the time. “Mommy, was you cross with me? I will be a good listener.”
You have a penchant for mischief, in particular, marker mischief. You could sniff a marker out anywhere. And once the marker is in hand, well, the world is your canvas. Skin, walls, windows, the television. Oh television. You lurve TV and all technology.
Your favorite TV shows are Shaun the Sheep, Octonauts, Little Einsteins, Angry Birds, and some weird cartoon whose theme song sounds something like this “Corned beef, corned beef, habba labba labba la!” I always make you turn that one off.
Speaking of things you love, you love animals. Oh boy. You know them all. You love your jumbo play animals and you love them so much that you might just have to weep when anyone else begins to play with them. I hate sharing too buddy, it’s a process. You know the continents and which animals live where, what they eat, and their approximate location at the zoo. The zoo is your happy place. Every beetle and otter and lion and monkey.
You are very handsome and you are a big boy and you know this. You don’t know your last name, insisting on being called, instead, “O Schmo.” You don’t really like going outside and neither do I, but sometimes we both have to make sacrifices for Maisy Jo.
You take an animal with you wherever you go, mainly Camel, Turtle, or Lion. Sometimes mini curious george which is, in fact, a leftover Beanie Baby from ages ago. You named your dog “Bark,” your striped puppy “Bickey Bouse,” (a clever play on Mickey Mouse), and your new kangaroo “Octopod.” I like your brand of weird.
You are a great helper. Fetching diapers and wipes and occasionally looking incredibly lost trying to find a book which your standing on top of and still can’t find. You love singing the ABC’s. You also like jumping.
I love how you make our adult friends your own friends. I love that at night you like to have a hug, and a kiss, and a tickle. I love how you laugh at my (very bad) voices when reading a story. I love how excited you get about wearing your monster t-shirt or having a lollipop. I love it when you jump like a kangaroo. And I even love it when you grab a stool and climb up to steal candy out of the kitchen. Candy is really good.
You are going to Preschool this year and I am not ready. Don’t go buddy! Stop growing up! Stay with me forever!