Dear Callum,

An amazing thing has happened.  After months and months of being so attached to me that I couldn’t even go to the bathroom alone, you have suddenly gotten excited about your dad.  Nothing has really changed—he’s always been kind to you and taken good care of you, but something shifted in your brain that makes you want to hug him and spend time with him and choose him over me when we’re going different places.  Playing Zelda on the WiiU may have been the start of it.  You love that game, and I can’t do much more to help you in that than turn on the machine.  You and your dad like to play together, and it’s a source of bonding that has carried over into a lot of other areas.  It’s really helped lighten my load.  We still have all day together, so I don’t feel deprived of Callum time (though that may change when you start preschool in the fall), but you ask frequently where Dad is and when he’ll be home.

We spend a lot of our time together playing pretend.  Every morning when you wake up, I go into your room to greet you and find out what animal you’ll be that day.  This morning, you chose kitty, which has been a favorite lately.  Sometimes you’re a dog, sometimes you’re a mouse, and sometimes you’re a bear cub.   You always assign me the role of Mommy Cat/Dog/Mouse/Bear.  Your stuffed animals also join the pack, and we make up voices for them that are a hybrid of their usual voices and whatever animal they are that day.

You’ve also discovered the big bins of Imaginext toys your brothers amassed during their preschool years and have since outgrown.  You’ve been having a lot of fun playing with the dragon, castle, ogre (which you call yogurt), as well as the ones related to the Batman/Joker universe.  Miles also plays with those toys with you, and you think his attention is about the most valuable thing in the world.

Another really fun thing you and Miles do is airplane rides.  He hoists you up on his back and goes through a whole routine about buckling up, warning you about turbulence, and guiding you safely through various storms.

We’ve been able to play outside more in recent weeks due to the emergence of spring.  We’ve been to our backyard park and Mercer park, as well as using the multipurpose path that cuts through our neighborhood to walk to Heyn’s for a treat.  While the extra outside time has been glorious, the downside is that your spring allergies are starting up again.  Usually they don’t get bad until May, and I was hoping the long-and-late winter would put them off a bit this year.  No such luck; you’re already sniffly and getting red-eyed.  I picked up a refill of your prescription eyedrops yesterday, and maybe this year you’ll tolerate them better.  I have never been more grateful for our prescription plan than I was last year when most of those eyedrops ($130 before insurance) dribbled onto the bed beneath your head as you thrashed.

Your brain has been growing a lot lately, if your surge in language and sleep are any indication.  You’ve regularly been sleeping for twelve hours at a stretch, and you’ve been extra chatty and articulate.  I think your brain has been working really hard, processing the world around you, forming thoughts and opinions about it, and articulating those ideas.  You’ve been hungry, too.  Usually you just have a few crackers for bedtime snack or skip it entirely, but last night you asked for waffles.  Even though you ate a reasonable dinner, you finished both the waffles I made you and asked for more.

Your current favorites:  steak (“the kind I like,” which is thinly-sliced flank steak), wheat toast with butter, PJ Masks, Laura Joffe Numeroff’s If You Give a… book series, helping me with baking projects, playing Zelda with your dad, irritating Tobin an attempt to get his attention, and taking long baths.  I’m glad you enjoy baths, because during allergy season we have to do a full bath with hair-wash every single night, and it’s actually kind of handy to put you in the tub and let you play for half an hour while I complete other evening tasks.

You’re becoming a really fun and interesting kid.  Now please stop grabbing Tobin’s face in the car, and we’ll really be on track.

I love you, my little kitty/doggy/mouse/cub.

Love,

Mommy