Happy Birthday Noah
My dearest Noah,
you are three years old now and I can honestly say I've never met another little boy like you. Your striking blue eyes and beautiful blonde hair makes you look angelic. But looks can be deceiving. You are fiercely independent.
In a way I've never seen before. Your refusal to ask for help can sometimes get you into trouble too. If you see a cookie on a counter that is out of reach, it becomes your mission to acquire that sweet little treat. You become James Bond. I can hear the "mission
Impossible" theme song as I watch your little mind figure it out. Only no mission is impossible. I've never seen a child that can scale a cabinet wall like you. You will use the drawer handles like rungs on a ladder and be on the kitchen counter in a matter
of seconds. I've even walked in several times to find you standing on the breakfast table, holding your hands up to literally hang from the chandelier. It is also not uncommon to find you sitting in the dog's water bowl or standing in the toilet. It's very
scary for us but you seem like you are not only fearless but completely at ease with heights. You seem to have no sense of danger. Even after you get hurt. This worries me.
Your insatiable desire to go outside is another constant worry of mine because you will walk out the door and just run if you find the tiniest opportunity at any time of the day. You just run. Down the street. Laughing and giggling and going as fast as your little legs will allow. I know. It's happened. Your mommy has turned around to see the front door open and ran out to find you two houses down like you had just escaped an enclosure at a zoo and were feeling freedom for the first time. Like I said, that's scary!
We have begun to potty train you in the past few weeks and you've come to the conclusion that we have been torturing you with a diaper all this time. Your disapproval of anything covering your bottom is obvious. The ability you have for taking off anything below the waist is uncanny. Like a little Houdini. We will put your training pants on you only to find you running naked through the house three minutes later, shrieking with delight. I've threatened to duct tape it to you in the past.
One of the many thing you've learned this year is to stroke a persons cheek for the sign that means I love you. Just the other day while playing, you stopped dead in your tracks, looked me directly in the eye and stroked my cheek ever so gently. "I love you." It makes my heart skip a beat every time you do it. Your eyes seem to see straight through to my soul. It is truly incredible.
You are a light my dear little wonder boy. A light that shines so brightly, I am in awe of you. And it seems that, just like light, you are everywhere all at once. All the time. You are like a stealthy little
cat that finds it's way into situations that are unbelievably remarkable or dangerous or sometimes just plain gross. The problem is, you don't have nine lives.
You are a conundrum of sorts. An enigma. A puzzle that has new pieces added to it every day and just when we think we have the puzzle figured out, you bring a new piece to us that we have to find a place for. A different way of communicating with us. And we have to figure out what it means and where that piece fits into the beautiful puzzle that is your life. And then there are the pieces we may never be able to find a place for. Why do you run endless loops around our living room? Why do you giggle hysterically while you do it? Why do you speak gibberish to the fingers on your right hand, as if your having a conversation with it? Why is it that sometimes you sink back into your world and not to notice us anymore? Why do you always lick the car? And when will you talk?
My mind races when I think about all the possibilities for your future. And all the impossibilities. I think about all the doors that will have to open for you and, of course, all the doors that will remain shut. I think about the difficult road you have ahead and relish in the fact that right now, you are only three years old. You are happy. Centered. Whole. Healthy. And so full of joy. The world has not shown you it's cruel hand yet. I hope we can protect you from it for as long as possible. And, of course, I hope and pray you will talk soon.
Because I think you have secrets.
Secrets to happiness.
And the rest of us want to know what they are.
I love you my little Noah.