Your Daddy and I were discussing our earliest memories. Whether we remember anything of our childhood before we turned three.
Maybe a little, bits and pieces of days.
You are almost ready for three. To remember.
I wanted to give you one for the bank, from the year you were two.
Last weekend we drove up to your Nana and Papa’s cottage.
You were telling everyone to save their sleep for when we get there and your sister had to pee and your Daddy was talking in funny voices to make everyone not freak out.
Someone asked you to say your ABC’s and I honestly didn’t know what would happen next.
You never have a chance to finish a sentence, let alone the whole alphabet, without another voice jumping in to correct you or finish your words.
Maybe it was the sun setting or the lull after the last gas station sugar rush, but all was quiet as you began and still as you made it halfway through and hushed the rest of the way right to Z.
And then the van went crazy, Little Man. Your siblings tested the limits of carseats and seatbelts and Mommy and Daddy cheered and you clapped and yay-ed for yourself.
Your smile touched the corners of your eyes and filled the van and the road and my heart and the sunset.
When we pulled up at the cottage your sister ran to the house to announce your latest feat and you collected more cheers. More love.
When you were born, into a busy household full of everyone who needed me right. this. minute. I worried about being enough for you.
Being able to give you all of me when you needed me most.
And now, as you head towards three, ready to make memories to remember, I simply want you to know how you are loved.
Everyone loves you with a you would think we just announced we were going to Disney World the first time you said your ABC’s kind of love.
You have all of us my rainbow baby. You’ve had all of us from the moment you arrived.
From A to Z and back again.
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