xtcian

eleventeen

5/6/07

Lucy every three months from one month to two years (click for bigger)

Sweet little Lucybeans-

This is the letter I write to you every three months, and guess what? You turned two years old a couple of weeks ago! However, I'm going to begin this missive on a very sad note, and you'll understand why. Y'see, eight days before your Daddo was born, my cousin Matthew was born. He and I grew up as babies and toddlers together, sharing baths, laughing and playing like twins. My baby books and scrapbooks are full of our pictures.

One day he was playing outside, and his father, my Uncle Steve, came home to check in with Aunt Cheryl. Matthew scampered behind the car without being seen, and when my uncle backed out of the driveway, the absolute worst thing in the world happened. I don't even want you to imagine it, not even when you're older.

My mom, your grandma, immediately flew down to take care of my Uncle Steve and their little family - she had lost her first husband to a car accident nine years before, and managed to possess enough sympathy and pioneer spirit to keep things together. She dressed Matthew for his funeral and said that his hair was still crooked from when his 4-year-old sister Jana had cut it. That detail always makes me cry.

They buried Matthew on his second birthday. My whole life, I grew up with the sense that someone was missing, that there was an unspoken gap where someone else should be. Matthew became this tiny round picture hanging over my grandma's bed, a snapshot taken at the beach, the tragedy I was told not to mention.

I would tell myself, in those days, well, maybe it wasn't that bad. He was only two, and maybe his family didn't know who he was yet. As I grew older, I suspected that was largely a defense mechanism, and now that I have you, I know that notion to be absolutely false.

You know who you are. Your specific personality lights up every room you're in. You have no unexpressed thoughts. Tonight, when I told Tessa that someone was inscrutable, you yelled "UNSCRUTABLE!!!" and then you looked at me and said "I'm not scrutable." And I had to say "the hell you aren't."

To prove my point, you immediately said "I'm not wearing socks."

above: Lucy, Tessa and Nana, Aug 2005; below: last week

We have entered into the 2-Year-Old World with you, and have discovered its incumbent mood swings. Frankly, I think the word "tantrum" is overused when it comes to toddlers, when most freakouts are a result of "being kinda hungry" or "being totally tired." Once we correct for those, your disposition can be described as tumultuously gregarious. In the words of Eddie Murphy, you like to party all the time. You never saw a gaggle of kids you didn't want to subject to your influence, nor have you spotted a tricycle you didn't want to commandeer.

You do everything big: you laugh big, you cry big. When you think something's supposed to be funny, you have a forced guffaw that would be scary if it weren't so endearing. When you hurt yourself, you adopt the Greek Tragedy Mask, a phrase your mom and I use after Chip coined it in this blog. When you are in your "caretaking" mode, like you do with me in the mornings, or with your dolls Jeannie, Patty and Millie (Ludmilla), your affection and uxoriousness is heart-achingly boundless.

Mostly, I love our pre-sleep ritual. I know I might be jinxing this to put it in writing, but I'm probably the best at getting you down for a nap. In those liminal states of near-slumber, I think we truly understand each other. We talk in hushed tones, whisper our favorite parts of the day, sing songs we've made up along the way, then both plunge into an altered state. You twitch your hands and feet en route to sleep, and I fall into a conscious bliss, where I get all kinds of writing done. It's all in my head, but remains indelible even when I place you in the crib and leave the room.

My favorite quote from you of late: "I'm a little bit scared of Easter." Man, me too. That is one bizarre holiday.

My favorite grammatical mistake: "These shoes are my's." Of course you mean "mine," but I love that you're simply following the rules. Those shoes are "mommy's," that book is "Laura's," that car is "hers"... why wouldn't these shoes be "my's"?

The same thing happened last year with "fiveteen." I couldn't explain to you why FOUR-teen is followed by FIF-teen and then SIX-teen. When you mentioned it, I had to admit it makes no goddamn sense.

My least favorite habit? The tyranny of "boo boo cream." I don't know where you read that phrase, but now every time you have a problem, you're pretty sure it can be solved with dollops and dollops of Boo Boo Cream, and frankly, we're running out of Neosporin™.

when Laura snapped this picture of us trike-constructing, I swore I'd seen another like it...

...and it was this one of me, my Dad and Kent circa 1973

All this to say: when you turned two, you had already revolutionized my life. You had already imbued your mom and I with your singular presence, and on your birthday, I couldn't help but look off into the distance and see my cousin Matthew, and the birthday he might have had. I now understand the passion, horror and survival of my aunt and uncle, and while they went on to have a lot more kids, I think I am infinitesimally closer to appreciating what they lost. There is no sugar-coating it: I simply love you like crazy, and I'd really appreciate it if you stay safe and sound for, you know, the next five-ty to ninety years.

I'd also appreciate a women's hoops scholarship to Carolina

Posted by Ian Williams at May 6, 2007 11:30 PM