An almost two-year-old watching a panda snack
at the National Zoo in Washington, D.C.
Two years ago, our son was born. He was fairly annoyed at the dry world and I couldn't get out of bed after a cesarean. Two years later, he can run through a field and drink water out of a cup. I can even leave him alone in a room to play for a a few moments as I make coffee.
We stop to look at ants on the sidewalk and clap when a song on the radio ends. He dances in his car seat, on the sidewalk, in his crib and anywhere he hears a tune or creates one himself. He can jump high, flapping his arms for momentum. At the end of the day, he likes to show me the firetruck he played with at daycare. He's started to ask for help to climb ladders on playgrounds and explores places I can't always fit to follow him.
The other day, while pushing him up a hill in his stroller, he kept pointing out "animals." There were bugs and squirrels and birds. I started to tune him out. It was hot and I wanted to get us both home. "Yes, animals," I agreed with him, "uh huh." And then suddenly he shouted, " Mamma! AN-I-MALS!"
I turned to look where he was pointing. There were two horses being ridden by police officers coming down the road and then past us on the sidewalk into the park. There were indeed animals. Two giant ones I might have ignored as I focused on getting home.
To you, bambino, I wish you a year of joy and many, many surprises. And I hope you'll continue to share them both with me.