It is hard to believe I am writing these words.
My son is eighteen months old.
He has been alive, on this planet, in my arms and on the ground, for a year and a half. Six very short months from now, he shall be two.
I wish I could share every moment of every day. I wish I had the ability to write the words that describe the joy that is my Ronan, the frustration that overwhelms the both of us, the happiness in each day and the hurt in each tear. I don’t know how to do it justice.
We are learning words! In the last few weeks, we have experienced the amazing ‘pop’ of communication as he starts to figure things out. He says “that” while pointing to what he wants and “see?” when he wants to show us something. Today, I am SURE he asked me for a “bite?” and said “ta-too” when I gave it to him. It sounded enough like thank you for me to get excited!
I’m so lucky Ronan eats as well as he does. With few exceptions, he puts offered food into his mouth and eats it. Just like his dad. Tonight, for dinner, we had baked chicken, brown rice and broccoli. I ADORE watching Ronan pick up a piece of broccoli, look at it very seriously, and then slowly put it in his mouth. He chews, chews, chews… and then NODS. “It’s good?” I ask him? He nods again.
Somehow, we have taught our son that nodding is the equivalent of expressing contentment. If he’s happy, he will nod.
We had an 18 month check up today. Ronan was a little punchy… he had gotten up at 7:30 am, instead of his usual 9. I had a hard time wrangling him and answering a new pediatricians questions all at once, but I think we did fairly well. She pronounced him “Perfect!”, with an exceptionally large head. (Brock says it’s because we tell him how awesome he is all the time.)
He got a shot, and cried like he does when he falls and conks his noggin. I had a bag of fruit snacks waiting, and he was done crying before the first juicy treat hit his lips. I haven’t heard another complaint since.
I find my mind running blank. I want so desperately to recall moments that mean so much to me, to put them down in words so I never forget them. I want so badly to read this five and ten and fifteen years from now, and think, “I DO remember that! I’m so glad I wrote it down.” But the moments are so plentiful, and so fleeting. Each time he grabs my glasses off my face and grins with joy at his success, each time we walk into the kitchen and he proudly shows me what he wants to eat, each morning when he sits on my lap to share our breakfast, signing thank you and all done… every moment is pure gold.
I don’t want them to go away.
