Letter Six

Dear Luke,

Today you broke my heart about a thousand times, from pure joy. Let me say at the outset that this stage you're in is fairly difficult; your moods fluctuate quite a bit and tend toward the explosive, with no warning. You change your mind a lot, sometimes repeatedly in the course of the same communication ("I want blueberry yogurt... no, lemon!--no, blueberry. No, I want lemon. NO! BLUEBERREEEEEEEEE!"). Obviously we continue to adore you madly, recklessly, but life isn't the near-constant picnic with you that it has generally been since you started walking and talking and whatnot.

That said, and keeping it all in mind, today you had so many moments of absolute delight that I really still don't know what to do with it. Bake it and have it for dessert, maybe? You cuddled, you wanted to sit in my lap, you told me I am pretty, you said your typically sage and hilarious things--and then you went and did this:

In your highchair, with about 8 small round cookies on the tray, you chattered away to me. Suddenly you picked up a cookie in each hand, and motioned toward a third.

"Mama and Lukie and Daddy," you said. I sang the song you made up last year: Mama and Lukie and Daddy! But you were already playing, there was already a scenario. You poked a bit at the Lukie cookie so that it slid.

"Lukie fell," you said to me.

The Mama and Daddy cookies came to the Lukie cookie's side.

"Are you okay?" and "It's alright," they said.

Then you took the Mama and Daddy cookies, and with great concentration, put one on either side of the Lukie cookie, applying enough pressure to lift it (him?) without breaking any of the cookies.

"They lift him!" you said, with a huge smile.

I love you, boy. I could not be any prouder or more honored to be your mother.

Always,
Mama