Dear Gideon James,
It has been nearly 2 weeks since Rylie left for Texas. It’s just been you and me at home, the first and maybe only time you will be an ‘only child’ in your life. You are 15 months old, 25 pounds, and a handful of awesomeness by any measure.
Without Ry you are desperate for someone- anyone– to watch, chase after, pester, yell to, steal food from, and whap with your swords. You are very much a younger brother and so much of your identity comes from your sister. This, as a mom, has made me happier than you can possibly realize.
You’ve started walking… though the ladies at church say “you have a long way to go,” as if we’re bummed you wouldn’t win any land races this weekend. You are an ADORABLE walker, with your arms hiked up to your belly and your self-congratulations.
You’ve had your fourth double ear infection and ridiculous dosage of antibiotics which do not seem to help… which is un-awesome. Next week we will meet with an ENT to decide if tubes are in your future. Knowing how sad you are when you have them… and how sad that makes the rest of the family… well, it’s an easy decision for this mamma. (Mammas, jump in here- they aren’t a super big deal from what I can tell. Yes? No?)
You’ve lost most of your hair. During a particularly brutal dinner one night, the peanut butter won and your father decided it was time for a Summer Cut. Ten minutes later, my Victorian Golden Haired Child was gone and a little rapscalian had taken his place. I must confess, you are ridiculously handsome either way and I am overly proud that your head is perfectly shaped.
Child, the tractor. Lord help us all with your Tractor Infatuation. You must see it, touch it, drive it every day. Sometimes, I even leave the house through the basement door just to avoid a visual of The Tractor and sending you into Meltdown Mode. You are the cutest little farmer there ever was though, and So. Serious. up there working the gears.
I do believe you are my favorite son. I cannot get enough of you or your wet kisses.