Dear Miles,

Yesterday you turned 2.3333 (repeating).  Repeating is something you do a lot lately, which is probably why your language skills have improved so much in the last month.  You’re talking so well, building sentences with verbs and subjects and pronouns and inflection.  It’s really fun and satisfying to hear.  Sometimes, unsolicited, you’ll say “Thinking ’bout…” and tell me what’s on your mind.  Last night in the car, we were listening to All Things Considered, and you chimed in with “Thinking ’bout Obama.”  You didn’t elaborate, but I’m glad to know you’re keeping up with current events.  Also…

NPR Announcer:  Which was the greater cause of the Wall Street collapse, man or machine?

Miles:  MAN!

I think it was a rhetorical question, but again, good job paying attention.

I just looked over my last letter to you, and I am thrilled to report that your freaking-out-around-strangers phase has largely ended.  Beanie told me that the other day you guys were playing out in the front yard.  The UPS guy arrived, which only a month ago would have sent you into sobs.  Not only did you not get upset, you accepted the package into your hands when he offered it, and you were so proud to show it to me when I got home.

It was shoes for me.  Of course, you wore them around the house before I got a chance to try them on.

The mild weather has given us lots of opportunities to get outside.  You love to visit your playgrounds, especially the one behind our house and the one by the library.  You’re a pro at the twirly slide, and you could run back and forth on the sidewalk by the park shelter until you withered with exhaustion.  Of course you don’t want to run on the cushy grass right next to the sidewalk, and your dad and I sit poised in pre-cringe mode, just waiting for you to take a spill onto the concrete.  Your form, while adorable, is seriously wonky.  You wave your arms around and kick your outsized feet like a lab puppy, one of those that will one day be a big dog, but for the time being can’t quite manage its extremities.  I hope I’m not making it worse with your footwear.  Why don’t toddler shoes come in half-sizes, anyway?  Of course, with all the practice you get wearing size 8 women’s and size 10.5 men’s shoes, you can probably handle an extra half-inch in the toe of your little velcro sneakers.

Last night we were talking, and I asked you who Daddy’s boy is.  You said, “Miles.”  Then I asked you who Mommy’s boy is, and you said, “Tiny baby Miles.”  You are having a lot of fun lately watching home videos of what you call the “Tiny baby Miles” days, which by your definition include last Halloween and Christmas.  I guess when you’re only 2.3333 (repeating), stuff that happened five to seven months ago is pretty distant.

On the other hand, you also recently insisted that you were in Mommy’s tummy.  I said, “Yes, you used to be in Mommy’s tummy, then you got too big and came out” (this  glosses over many critical events, but we’re keeping it simple for now).

You replied, “No.  Miles in Mommy’s tummy NOW.”

Maybe you don’t know what at tummy is.  The whole idea is pretty implausible to you, I’m sure.

I didn’t get this posted yesterday for the best of reasons:  it was a Mommy/Miles day, and I spent almost every minute with you.  Beanie had a doctor’s appointment and couldn’t make it, so I took a vacation day and hung out with my Tiny Baby Miles.  My Tiny Baby Miles is now a guy who can’t walk under the kitchen counter anymore, who can order from the kid’s menu at a restaurant, who can name the states and cities his relatives live in.

Yes, you can still be stubborn and grumpy sometimes, but mostly you are smart and hilarious and expressive.  A silly game you play:  your dad asks you for a hug, and instead of giving him one, you run straight to me and wrap your arms around my knees, giggling at how you’re sticking it to your daddy.  I hope your dad knows you’re just being goofy and that it doesn’t hurt his feelings.

I’ll be straight with you.  I dig it.  It can be exhausting, like earlier this week when you were sick and you cried, “More want Mommy” over and over, but you reward me multi-fold.

Tomorrow is Mother’s Day, and I’m so proud that I get to be with my wonderful little boy.  We’ll pose for our third annual picture in the front yard, and I hope when you look back at those pictures in future years, you know that the huge smile on my face is only about 3% for the camera and 97% for you.

Love,

Mommy