Owen Turns 2!

Dear Owen-

You are two.

It’s hard to believe, but you’ve been in our lives for two whole years. I pretend like that’s not the case. I still call you baby O or baby Owen or wittle Owenen. I still cradle you like an infant when you’ll let me and reflect on the moments when you were something like 6 months old and would fall asleep in the crook of my arm every night. I sometimes wish I could have those moments back.

I can’t even begin to describe how much we love you. How you complement our family as though the moments before you were nothing more than incomplete. You are the yin to Collin’s yang, the household gag reel, the cozy, comfy warm spot in my bed. To me, in so many ways, you personify love. You radiate it. I don’t know how else to explain the pure joy that comes from you. Its your own personal aura and we’re so lucky to experience it.

During your first year I panicked a lot. Really a lot. I wrongfully compared and contrasted. I worried that you didn’t get enough attention, enough words, enough exercise. The list goes on. You probably didn’t. But, now, today, I’m okay with that. Because you are simply amazing in my eyes.

At two you are using funny three and sometimes four word sentences, with very common two word phrases. Pick up, pwease!; Momma, raisins, pwease. Daddy, bwess you. Pway next, cow-win?, Mmmm, mwilk. Four word sentences come at our insistence: Owen say please and use your words- “Pwease mwilk in cup!”

You snort like a pig often. You insert random animal sounds in everyday conversation. You like to give kisses on the cheek- which I cannot get enough of. You are so worried about me. You try to protect me which is SO stinkin’ cute I can barely stand it. If a loud firetruck goes by, you reach out to me and cover my ears. If I say “ow!” you come over and say “Momma, hug!” and give me a tight wonderful “I will make it all better” hug.

You are built to wrestle, which you do with reckless abandon. You often bike fabrics like a puppy playing tug of war, except its usually a couch pillow and I’m usually not willing to play along. You tackle Collin with intention as though you are getting back for every moment he took advantage of your little-ness in the year past. You are not so little anymore.  This part hurts my heart. I can feel it ache in a way that hopes to hold on to the baby in you. I adore your clever innocence so very much. I hate to see it slip away.

You count to 10, sometimes 12 if you are feeling ambitious. You can sing-song your ABCs, you know lots of animals, sounds and have too many trains to count because you love them. You can spell your name: O-W-E-N!!!. It’s adorable and I should pinch myself 10 times as punishment for not having it recorded somewhere yet.

There are things you don’t do too: you can’t seem to get your colors straight and I wonder time and again if you are color blind or something. You knew blue, then seem to have forgotten it. Went on to pink and knew that for a bit, but now call lots of things pink. You consistently know yellow and sometimes green, but rarely red and brown. It’s a round robin game where I teach one color, think you have it, move on to the next, then go back to review the first color and see that you seem to have lost it. If you were my first child I probably would have stressed about that. I don’t stress anymore. You will learn your colors when you are ready to. I will keep giving you stimulating experiences and you will keep sucking them up.

Some animals seem hard for you to remember. You like to think hippos and rhinnos are bears. You sometimes call zebras horses. It’s all fun for you. I don’t mind one little bit.

At this age I was really starting to inundate Collin with word patterns. Rhyming was huge. I labeled rhymes like a mad woman. He can rhyme with the best of them. There are moments that I think, now if I would have been more intentional about words with Owen he would be ready for that now too. I could have made him out to be as receptive as Collin was to language. But quickly, and I mean really quickly, I forget those thoughts. I honestly don’t care that you aren’t rhyming. You are Owen. Uniquely Owen and you will Rhyme eventually. It will be fine. Instead I focus on the things you can do that Collin didn’t at this age.

You can sit independently and do a task for 5 to 10 minutes with just little bits of guidance. You like puzzles and play-dough. You love to paint (which is fantastic, because your brother didn’t). You’ll do art for 5 minutes straight. I love that. You hammer in nails and love to write. Your fine motor skills are pretty stinkin’ good. You’ve used a fork (when you are feeling like it and not being stubborn and resistant just to spite me!) for awhile now, maybe since you were 18 months or so. You drink from a cup, and you, my dear sweet Owen, are potty trained.

Well for the most part. You still can’t hold it overnight very well and at nap, but otherwise you’re pretty much good to go if we remind you to go to the bathroom.

At 2 you know how to scale your crib to get out, but don’t do it very often. Instead you stand there and yell “Potty momma!” until I come get you. You adore playing with Collin, but still don’t have all the words to tell him you want the toy he has or you aren’t interested in sharing, so there is a lot of whines and yells between you and your desires. We work on it every day though and soon enough we’ll hear you say, “collin, can I have it next pwease?”

You are an animal. A crazy, effervescent, animal. You scale everything. You toss things to see where they’ll land. You kick snow and sand and push shovels because they are fun things to do. You love all things construction. Diggers. Bulldozers (which you call –ul DOZER), stid steers (skid steer) are all highlights in your life.

You truly enjoy books. You love curious George. You adore him actually. We must read something or play with something curious George nearly every other day. Its very fitting though,  as a curious monkey.

And you are sweet. Maybe the sweetest boy I know. Without fail everyday you deliver sweet, deep, fulfilling hugs. The kind that warm my heart instantly. When I get home you say “momma!” and run to me. You’re always so anxious to get into my arms that you often try to take my shoes off for me so that you can be one moment closer to being picked up. Your love is bubbly and unlimited, you are passionate and strong willed, but so very caring and genuine. I love you so much.

You have time outs. Probably once a day or so now. You test. A lot. You throw food off the table, which irks me, but is so fun for you. We’re working on saying “all done” instead of throwing food off the table. It’s a challenge, but I’m learning and so are you.

And so, you see, its true. You are amazing.

I do remember the days when I thought there would never be enough for you. That I would not have enough time to give the attention to you that you deserve, or the skill to get you on track with literacy and math and such. Or that there wouldn’t be enough opportunities to teach you specific skills in a way that was more than observation, trial and error. But, now, its doesn’t matter, because the one thing there was always enough of is LOVE. And that will make up for everything else.

I read once that the best thing you can give a child is a sibling. I’m starting to see how true that really is and its really related to the enough love thing. For every moment that my heart sunk that you were crying and I couldn't get to you when you were little because I was with Collin, or for every conversation I didn't have with you at 6 or 8 or 9 months, there are hundreds of moments now where you are at such an advantage to have a big brother. To learn from him, to play with, to be partners in crime and hand in hand for life. You get a buddy for this journey, which in so remarkable.

At two, it’s very evident you two are now on a path together. You’ve caught up enough that Collin sees you as a peer (if a young one) and he’s helping you to learn new things and you’re helping him to understand the nature of two. Of working together as a team. Of understanding and appreciating others’ needs and wants. It’s a little bit magical.

So, with every ounce of love in me, we jump for joy that you are two now Owen. What a wonderful experience it has been. I wonder who you will be at 3 and how you will change, but I am not anxious. I will carefully hold on to the moments I have with 2.

You’re only here for a moment, and I don’t want to blink and miss all the magic and wonder you have to offer.

Happy birthday baby boy.

We love you with all our hearts.

Momma & Daddy