Dear Angel Face,
I envy you. You approach life with such fervor, such zeal, such excitement. You are not afraid of new situations and new people and you just want most people – especially other children, regardless of age, to be your friend.
You delight in odd things – like counting to three (you shout “three!!!” repeatedly, as though something magical and thrilling would happen just because you said that word) and shoving your whole hand in my mouth so I can “spit” it back at you.
When I was a child, lo these many (30!) years ago, I was like the little girl at the wedding reception you so desperately wanted to be your friend. I hid behind my mother and clung to her skirts and peered shyly at other children who wanted to make my acquaintance. I did not want to be held by strangers (re: anyone other than my mommy or daddy). I did not have your boldness. I could not imagine myself grabbing another child’s hands and beginning a spirited game of “Ring around the Rosy” on the dance floor while everyone else is eating dinner.
You are so open to new people and new experiences; I hope that does not fade as you get older. You’re grandpa thinks you’re very smart (“Not just because I’m her grandpa!”), and I secretly think you are too, but let’s not get too carried away. After all, we’re still trying to break you of the months-old habit of feeding your food to the dogs, then yelling “No!” at them when they actually eat it.
A few things worry me, like your propensity for rough play (see fractured clavicle) and your inability to pronounce the letter “F” (shish for fish and shower for flower). But mostly you are a charming child. You smile and give kisses and hugs and lay your head on my shoulder when you are tired. You play with mommy’s hair and the dogs’ tails with equal zest.
Your tantrums are brief little cloudbursts over your generally sunny skies (unless you are very tired and then I would characterize our weather pattern as mostly cloudy with patches of sun). You have started hitting, and that is frustrating because you are completely unfazed by being told “no.” You look at us with a blank stare (mommy worries you might be a psychopath).
You make me want to quit my job and be your mommy “all the time” but then I remember that I am your mommy all the time, and gosh darn it, nobody can take that away from me.