Happy Birthday Ty

Dear Ty,

My mom always said you’ll wonder how you could love the second kid as much, and then you do. I admit it, I did wonder. But she was right. You are the perfect Ty for our family. It was missing a Ty. I love how you say Dad, and Mom, and Sam (which, albeit, sounds more like “sss” – but don’t worry, we get it) and “cool”, your third word. What baby says “cool” for their third word? And in the right context even?
Speaking of, I love how your remind me of your daddy. You are so handsome, with the best summer blond hair and bright blue eyes. Your best friends (besides Sam) are the vacuum, the humidifier, the dishwasher, the remote, the fan, and any other cord you can eat. Already you have done three things on my phone I didn’t know I could do. I give you two years before I’m asking YOU questions about technology. You love sports, too. And you do like books, mostly to eat. But I know that glimmer in your eyes when we read that color book means librarian-turned-mom still has a chance.

Don’t worry, we have completely forgotten when you screamed bloody murder for a few hours a day those first months. We always suspected you had a sweet little personality lurking under the surface. You still tell us what you want (by yelling in our faces) but what a happy guy you are. Nothing is more fun than seeing you holding onto the edge of the crib in the morning, peeking out, laughing and smiling when I walk in the door. I know you’re ready to come out when I start hearing your animals thud to the floor. Then the blankets and socks. One time you had half an arm out of your pajamas in addition. Might not be long before you’re down to a diaper when you’re ready to come out.

I pray for your wife often, that you’d find a good one. I don’t know why.

Nothing makes you happier than that first moment we come outside, catching/chewing/watching a ball, seeing your Sam, getting picked up, eating blueberries, or getting kissed on your tummy.

What a gift it is to be your mom. You can stay one forever though.

I love you,
Mom

To Ty

Ty:
One day when you read this blog, you’ll wonder where I was for the first year of your life. Then another day, when you have your second child, you’ll understand.
Ty, for months I have been wanting to write this post. We love you so much. You are hilarious. We have now learned if we want to predict our kids’ personalities, we should write down all observations at three months old, and then reverse them. You once seemed so calm and easy-going! Now we now not to plop you down anywhere and just walk away, that you fake-cry when mom walks in the room, that when you’re sure you’re starving at 3 am, we should just give up and feed you. We know you have no patience for waiting in the pack-n-play, for food to be set down, and getting that bottom wiped.
You talk all the time. It started with “Oooooooo!” (volume goes up and down) whenever you got excited. Now you love to say “dad.” You try to say Sam, and no, and bottle. Your little chubby hands clapping, and waving, and reaching so big are the cutest. I love when you sing when we sing and talk back to Sam. Nothing, nothing, makes you laugh as much as Sam. His laugh is funny, his hair is funny, when he hugs (read = squeezes) you it’s funny, when he runs it’s funny. The other day he was throwing a pot holder against the wall and it was SO funny.
I’ve never, ever seen a baby so disinterested in toys. If you can’t bounce it, you won’t touch it. Instead, I pry you away daily from the vaccuum, the china closet, the stairs, the toilet, the trash can, the computer, my cell phone, and the every power adapter we use.
I think you are a lot like your dad. You love taking things apart. You love cords and wires and plugs and anything electric. You aren’t clumsy, and even, dare I say it, athletic. You’re more interested in climbing and crawling and walking than sitting still for too long. And maybe, maybe one day you’ll have his patience.
You are so cuddly and smily and love getting tickled and sung to and bounced and hugged. Everyday I love you more. I’m so glad your mine.
Love,
Mom