Dear Riley

Dear Riley,

Today you are 22 months old. I refuse to be one of those parents who is like, “Little Johnny is 38 months old!” So I like to tell people you’re a year-and-a-half or almost two.

To say that you are a joy in our lives and make us happier than we thought we could be is cliche. So I won’t say it. We make sure you know it, though.

I want to tell you exactly what you are like as you are entering age 2.

You have a great imagination. You love to build with your MegaBloks and when I look at what you make and exclaim, “Look at that tower!” You tell me it’s a “Choo Choo!” or a horsey or a car.

You are absolutely hilarious. You have the best, most perfectly infectious laugh I’ve ever heard on a real child. You laugh hysterically when Lola chases you. You think there’s nothing funnier than when Daddy or I make a goofy face at you. You love to climb on the couch behind our back and stick your tongue out at us while you peer over us from one shoulder to the next. You realize that sticking your tongue out at someone is funny. We are probably going to have to make you stop that relatively soon.

You are so ticklish. And you love tickling others, too. You giggle uncontrollably when I put your socks or slippers on. You take my slippers off to tickle my feet. You tickle under my chin and squeak in a high-pitched voice. You get it, little boy.

You are so musical.

We got you a guitar for Christmas this year. You love it. “Geeetar!” You exclaim while you strum it. You sing songs to yourself while you strum. You remember all the songs you hear (just like Mommy). You put yourself to sleep at night singing the Barney theme song (I cringe, I can’t help it. That show is so stupid.) We’re looking into Kindermusic classes for you, because  really, I think you’ve completely inherited your parents love of music. And it’s amazing.

You mug for the camera. You’ve become a little ham and you even say, “Cheeeeeese” whenever you see a camera.

You’re organized like Daddy. You’ve definitely inherited some of your daddy’s OCD. You like to make sure your sippy cup is placed upright on the table. You get incredibly frustrated when you can’t do something like lift your basketball hoop over the baby gate. Or stack something huge on top of your tiny blocks. You’ll understand gravity someday, buddy.

You throw a mean temper tantrum. At first we just looked at each other and laughed when you would start up. Disbelief that we had a child who was old enough to throw a tantrum. But the high pitched screaming, crocodile tears, and the occasional flinging of your body to the ground, well it’s not so funny anymore. Especially when we’re at Kohl’s 2 weeks before Christmas and the store is packed and you decide to throw yourself on the nasty, highly-trafficked floor and proceed to scream and kick when I pick you up. I’m going to remind you of that one when you’re older.

I want you to know how much everyone loves you. I want you to know how excited we all are to watch you grow up. Just not too fast, ok, little man?

Love,

Mommy

 

 

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