Often, I wonder what its like to have all those emotions, impulses coursing through your tiny body. No guidebook, no how-to’s, just a fresh burst of energy each morning, catapulting you into your day, filled with wonder and delight, frustration and sadness. Each new feeling floods your entire person. You are curiosity. You are frustration. You are pure joy. No façade, no deception, just unfiltered feelings.
You, my girl, experience things so honestly. You are the embodiment of raw, real emotion.
So here we are, my love, embroiled in toddlerhood, where it’s possible to feel as though my heart might burst with pride, love, joy, laughter one moment and an all consuming anger and frustration that leaves me feebly trembling in a corner the next. There are days I’m fully convinced that the men in white coats will find me here, huddled up in that corner, wearing my snack-stained armor, sporadically tossing pancakes in your general direction, because, at least pancakes keep you happy, one moment at a time.
Other days, I whole-heartedly believe that you and I could take on the world. Because why not? We are capable.
You’re not a baby anymore. You have opinions (on everything), ideas, thoughts, urges, needs, and more words than either you or I know what to do with.
Everyone told me that parenting was hard. They told me that it would be the biggest challenge, the greatest adventure of my adult life. It’ll take all you have. It’ll change you, shape you.
I don’t think we’re made to listen to such things. We’re not meant to quantify what it takes to raise a human in this world. It’s all too much. It can’t be put into words. Not properly, at least. I think we’re made to ignore everyone and do it anyway.
No one or one hundred people's words would have been adequate enough to prepare me for the gut-wrenching, world-flipping, heart-bursting journey that is… you.
So bring it on, toddlerhood. If we’ve accomplished this much in 19 months, think of how much more we could do, you could do in the next 19, 20, 90 years?