You had a hard day today. You looked at the world with an expression on your face that I have come to recognize as something like skepticism–the 2 year old version. You skipped protesting and went to the most desperate and piercing cry at the first sign of not getting exactly what you wanted at the moment you wanted it. You were pissed that the door could not be both open and closed at the same time. And that you could not be inside alone by locking Mama outside. You wanted your slippers. You hated your slippers. You wanted to be alone and at the same time you wanted me to be right beside you to help you climb the stairs.
By nap time it was evident that you just weren’t feeling right today.
And I just want to tell you again and again that I love you. I have hard days, too. I know now, with the wisdom that can only come by experience, that you cannot know how much I love you until you have your own child. If I could have taken away whatever pain you don’t yet have words for, I would have. If I could have saved you that hour of painful nap time crying (so painful I teared up, too) I would have. Instead I held you, I talked to you, I listened to you, sang to you, read to you, gave you teething tabs, cleaned your nose at your request, nursed you and eventually you slept.
Then this afternoon we went to the “Baba Park”, as you call it, and that did the trick! You brightened up immensely and instantly became smiley, adventurous you.
And we played chase, we found a piece of limestone to draw with (you drew Baba)
and we examined mud until your devoted Baba showed up to meet us. You literally threw your arms open and ran to him with a huge grin. Ran all the way across the playground to be picked up and tossed into the air and hugged…at which point we all went together so you could show off your slide climbing skills, swinging on your belly skills and running.
You, my son, have such joy inside even on your hardest days. I know we all grow up, but I hope you hold onto that inner love of fresh air, life and play.
I also know you are already growing up, and fast. I will forever be in awe of the way your mind works. One moment we are teaching you the word for moon in arabic (qamar/’amar), the next you are making a sentence in arabic: “I am the moon!” you say (Ana ‘amar!) with a huge smile.