dear isaac,
at two years old, you are more ziggy than ever. or, as your sister loves to call you: zigster. i still wonder if, when you are a grown man, we’ll fondly remember calling you ziggy as a phase, but i mostly think you will be ziggy forever.
you turned two about three weeks ago, and a note to you has been banging around in my head ever since, not quite taking form until (hopefully) now. i confess that is difficult to write about you. you are so very yourself, just as you’ve been since the beginning–since i knew you were you in my belly–and descriptions are elusive. you are ziggy; you are isaac. you were very aptly named.
your world revolves around mama, coyote and roadrunner, and jude. now that you are done teething, you like me ok as well. (when you are in pain, you tend to take it out on me. i guess you blame your tortured existence on me.) you and your mama are two virgo peas in a pod. you both love your beans and rice and spicy foods. you dislike meat and reese’s cups. you both love order and routine, and express great displeasure with unexpected change.
oh, and coyote and roadrunner? you are ob-sessed. you call them deet deet and raaaaah. you would watch those cartoons all day every day if we’d let you. we don’t let you. cue great displeasure.
your vocabulary is equal parts words and sound effects these days, and when you’re using actual words, they mostly begin with N or D. (NEIN! you yell like an adorable, angry little german, when you assert possession of something.) you call sweet treats “deet deets”. sometimes i ask you to say “road runner sweet treat”. you oblige: deet deet deet deet. it slays me, every time.
you are the most mature two year old i’ve ever met. you quickly deescalate yourself from tantrums by calming down on the couch, for instance. also, you are about 97% potty trained, and if i’d let you handle the toothpaste by yourself, you could totally own your oral hygiene routine.
every time i mention this bit about you, my chest tightens in fear that i’m about to jinx it: you still love to sleep. our bedtime ritual has remained a constant as you’ve grown, in that it always ends with me cradling you and sniffing your honey-head before plopping you down into your crib. you still kiss my hand as i sign “i love you”; a gesture, you may remember, that stems from the days when you bit me all the time. and then you roll over and go right to sleep, every night. some nights, i am brazen in my confidence about your overwhelming desire to sleep, and i stand sentinel by your bedside, watching your eyelashes flutter and your breathing grow slower and deeper. other nights, i continue to sway you in my arms until you go limp.
you fall asleep right there in front of me, and it is a holy moment.
last night [ahem, october 10], mama put together your big boy bed, and set it up in jude’s room–which is now, officially, jude and ziggy’s room. you hopped right in, covered yourself up, tucked a stuffed animal under each arm, and said “night night” to me. i kissed you and turned out the light. no more cradling: you were a kid in a bed who was ready to sleep. i left the room before you kicked me out.
you woke up at 5am, wanting your crib, and so mama obliged. jude woke up too, and was gutted that she would have to spend the rest of the night alone in the room. (despite the fact that she’s been alone in there since she was about 6 months old.) already, she has made the leap that you two are in this together, and she is fiercely devoted to you. she wholly expects you back tonight.
…and now it is three weeks later. grandma came to visit, and the days got away from me.
your crib is gone now, dismantled and given to a baby not yet born. this big boy thing you’re doing, zig? it’s on. it’s real. it’s not going away. you and jude continue to share your room, with a mixed overnight-sleeping success rate. you love to torture her in the middle of the night, and you love to turn on the clock radio. and so, most nights, there is some screaming and being re-deposited into your bed by one of your weary mothers. despite such setbacks, you’re making great progress, and you still love to go to bed. there is no more swaying you to sleep, however. after two stories (currently olivia and annie bananie), you climb into bed and allow me to kiss you and tousle your hair.
you still kiss my hand when i sign “i love you”.
oh my boy, you are a delight, and i adore your two-year-old self. i love your devotion to swinging, and you save your biggest smile in the world for that act. i love that you find it funny to talk in silly voices. i love your independence. i love that you still do not call me mommy, and instead opt for “nanny” (bananie).
i love you i love you i love you. and i am so excited to know you more this year.
love,
mommy
zero:
one:
two:
we are fambly. 