Random letter to son

Dear Declan,

You turned 14 months old on July the 4th and I am amazed at how the time has gone since your birth.

I vividly remember sitting next to you while you spent the first night of your life in an oxygen incubator because of that tiny hole in your lung.  I nearly had a conniption when you coughed and spit up a little on your blanket; my flailing brought the nurse, who was more concerned with placating me than wiping gunk off your face.  I was thoroughly amazed the next morning when the doctor reported that your lung was completely healed over and you were breathing normally.  You've been a constant joy to me ever since.  (But MAN!!  Do diaper costs ever add up!)

I am so glad to see, and hear, that farts are still funny.  Hearing you noisily pass wind, followed rapidly by an effluence of giggles, is more than enough to set your mother and me to our own hysterics.  And, uh, the dog to questing for the wonderful new companion he can smell but not see.

I do wish that you'd get around to walking already.  It's not unusual for kids your age to still be crawling, and I am vastly amused at your 'Gollum shuffle' on palms and toes with arse raised proudly in the air, but once you discover the miracle of bi-pedal locomotion, you'll thank me for encouraging you.  Honest.  And your mother and I will subsequently curse ourselves for doing so, or so we've been told.  All in due time.

Your technological aptitude is truly amazing!  I was stunned that day that we were sitting together, watching Attack of the Clones, when Obi-Wan Kenobi suddenly started issuing orders in Spanish.  I never even knew the remote control had that button on it.  And a piece of advice: not everything is a telephone.  It's cute to see you hold up your sandwich to your ear, cock your head to one side and start blabbering like Mommy and Daddy (well, more Mommy than Daddy), but one day I'll tell you that bad joke about Helen Keller and the clothes iron.  And then I'll tell you not to tell jokes like that.  Lessons in hypocrisy are best learned from your parents.

There is no finer feeling in the world than returning home to the sight of you sitting on the living room floor with arms raised so high that you're scrunching your ears with your shoulders in your straining efforts to reach me.  How could I possibly NOT pick you up and squeeze you tight?  Please, please, please... only use your powers of influence for good on this Earth.

Please try to be a little nicer to the dogs.  The puppy's only twelve weeks old and though she's amazingly tolerant now, she'll outweigh you in a few months and perhaps won't be so amenable to having her nostrils and eye-sockets poked while you stretch her lips in what, to you, are apparently hilarious contortions.  Be nice.

Thank you for being such a wonderful sleeper!  You haven't been getting up in the middle of the night since well before you were six months old and your mother and I both appreciate that. A LOT!

I sometimes wonder if you have some sort of nascent musical ability.  Whether it's in front of the television, by the radio during your bath or when you push the button on that f--king Bob the Builder truck for the 57th time in a row, you seem to have an uncanny knack to follow a beat with your whole body.  The drum you got for your birthday is still safely ensconced up in the closet; perhaps we should bring it out for you and see how much damage you can do with a couple drumsticks.

Just because you see a set of stairs does not mean that you HAVE to go up or down them.  Yes, you're very good at both.  Yes, your mother and I are very impressed at how quickly you acquired the ability.  Your sideways crab motion with right leg extended towards the top step as you intend to go down is a reassuringly safe approach to your previous head-first attempts (safely thwarted), but remaining horizontal is good too.  And watching you gallop across the hardwood floor towards the back door stairwell makes me wince just thinking about my own knees before I realise I'd better go get you.

Please start eating your vegetables a little more.  Meat: check.  Fruits: check.  Breads and cereals: check.  Veggies: we still have to trick you into eating them most of the time.  Still, when you refused to eat your mother's delicious coleslaw with a hoity-toity upturned nose, I derived great pleasure in dumping it into your pasta and tomato sauce and seeing you gobble it all down amongst the noodles.  I can play games too, darling boy.  And I have years' more experience.  Ask Granny.  Good luck.

The unending adventure you are having with the exploration of your own body is a wonderful sight to see.  The ability to touch both of your ears with your feet at the same time is startling and a little disconcerting.  Though bath time is one of the only times of day you are able to let it all hang out, please be careful.  There's no truth to the old wive's tale, "If you keep pulling it, it'll fall right off," but there ARE other toys in the tub for your amusement.  And I shudder at what's going to happen as you get older and you forever associate your nose with your mother's admonition, "Get your finger outta there!"  It's funny now, but do you know why gorillas have large nostrils?  That's right, they also have large fingers.

All in all, thanks for being such a wonderful kid.  You're gonna make a great big brother in the future.

Love you lots,
Dad

Comments

[Tina]

Pull this letter out every five years and read it to the little guy. At five, he'll love it, at ten, hate it, at fifteen, be embarrassed by it. Then skip a year, and present it to him on his 21st birthday, after that celebratory beer. He'll give his dad a big old hug, and you'll be right back to the beginning again. Tina
p.s. ... Vegetable trick ?? Give him broccoli with the stems attached, and ask him if he wants to eat some "trees".... worked on both of mine. Couldn't hurt to try !