the other day, you rounded yet another corner toward Three. or maybe you jumped another hurdle. possibly, you landed a triple axle. the point is: time is chugging forward like so many of your beloved trains–faster faster–and you hit every milestone with huge physicality and intensity. it’s what you do. nothing about you is subtle, subdued, implied: you are jude. judif. and you pronounce your name thusly: judif mawgweet uh’coffee. when you say it like that, i find myself very tempted to change our last name in a permanent homage to caffeine.
oh my girl, every day you grow lither, more confident in your body. gone are the michelin baby legs; they’ve been replaced with rock hard quads and defined calves. you have the strong body of a kid. you jump and climb and dance and run and spin and fall and bruise your self silly. and as ever, you are tough as nails when injured. you prefer to nurse your own wounds. when you are overwhelmed by pain or embarrassment, you excuse yourself to another room while you find composure, and then you reenact the drama with all the flair of a soap opera actress.
i’m so excited to see glimpses of what our lives will be like as you continue to find your way into the art of conversation. you ask thoughtful questions now, can stay on topic for minutes at a time, and purposely crack jokes. you even have a new, somehow more mature, silly face you pull when you know you’re being funny. i thought i knew your face so well…
your grasp of language is more tenable every day. you are very colorful in your responses.
us: jude, please go pick up your trains.
you: no chanks, i’m busy right now.
us: jude! be careful! you just knocked over your milk/juice/water/brother!
you: i’m SO sorry! it’s ALL my FAULT.
oh the cheek. oh the drama. to be fair, you’ve been exposed to a lot of thomas and his whiny, impetuous friends. you now ask if we are cross with you. it’s only right that you are becoming so anglo in your speech, since you’re named after the best brit of them all: big jude.
however quickly your linguistic prowess develops, you still use some wonderful judeisms on a daily basis. your aunt shannon once told me about how her daughter used to call “sausages” “hostages”. and she was so very sad when that hilarious mixup passed. i feel the same way, honestly, and i don’t correct you at all.
instead of “i am”, you say “i mem”. you usually answer yes/no questions with “i do/i do not”, or “i mem/i mem not”, so we hear it all the time, and it never gets old.
you still call privacy “pie-seats”.
[…you are completely potty trained now, by the way. last week, i accidentally left you in big girl panties overnight, and you woke up dry. thus endeth the era of pullups! glory.]
you say “yours” instead of “your”. ie: “can i have some of yours coffee?”
you confuse peacocks and flamingoes.
you constantly ask if you can pet ziggy.
in short, you are adorable.
however, you are not tame.
do you remember your moms reading you the chronicles of narnia when you were a baby? yes? good. so you’ll remember the line about aslan: he is not safe, but he is good.
the same applies to you, kiddo, for you still struggle mightily with Impulse Control. one moment we will be snuggling together on the couch, and a second later–without warning–you will jump on my head, head-butt me in the tailbone, accidentally punch me in the jaw. unless you are asleep, in your bed, upstairs, my body is not safe. you can take me down. and you know it. sometimes, you offer the courtesy of “hey mom, i jump on you?” but before i can answer, you have jumped on me. we are tigger and eeyore, you and i.
so yes. here are we are on the cusp of three. savor the two, jude. it’s the only time you’ll ever experience it.
i love you more than you love all the cgi thomas movies.