To Elijah

Dear chub-chub (that’s what you want to be called, as opposed to jah-jah, chubs, li-jee, jack-jack, or Elijah),

You’re smack in the middle of your terrible two’s.

There’s a striking sort of transparency about it for you. I remember this phase being muted for Ellie (or maybe I’ve just forgotten how it was—hard to believe!), and disproportionately tempestuous for Eric, but it’s like I can see your struggles right under the surface. You can’t decide if you’re big or little; you vacillate between furious independence and irrational clinginess, you want to be heard yet can’t get your words out right all the time; you’re sensitive to being slighted or left out yet wish to declare your need for privacy. If it sounds exhausting—well, it is.

You like that Veggie Tales song: “you’re big, I’m little / you go, I stay / why can’t little guys do big things too?” You go on interesting monologues describing why “I’m big—right?” (because you can reach your arms high, go to a BSF class, pretend-read books) or why “I’m still little” (because you want to get carried to bed, get help eating, prefer diapers).

You insist on doing certain things by yourself even though it takes ten times as long and makes us all wait (like put on your sandals by carefully un-velcro-ing and re-velcro-ing every single strap, or repeatedly attempt to buckle yourself into your car seat). You want to go everywhere but insist on being carried all the time. And I mean all the time. Everything is just a little bit emotional, because it’s all a statement about your identity and independence, and when you don’t like how things go, it comes out in tears and stamping of feet and shouting (“no, not like that!”). It’s either, “you can haf it—your whole life” or “I’m not playing with you anymore!” Not much in-between. I’ve been explaining to Ellie that “your whole life” for you means “until I feel like getting it back” which is on average about three minutes.

But, you know, this is you changing, saying goodbye to infancy forever, becoming your own person with a new sense of self. I sort of miss the laid-back baby with the rolls of chub, but you know, you’re so entertaining now in your wide-eyed, earnestly serious expositions upon the world and how things work (usually I’m nodding while actually understanding about a third of what you’re saying). I won’t really miss the tantrums and emotional lability, but I am looking forward to seeing who you become.

Love,

Mommy