Bryce_2
Dear Bryce,
Two years old.
When we asked you today, “How old are you going to be tomorrow Bryce-y?” You said, “Wallie!!!” But you were very excited about it.
You may find out one day that life with a 2-year-old is never dull. (Note: it actually can be very dull when putting together a puzzle for the 700th time or naming the colors of 60 hot wheel trucks or pointing out every bug on the sidewalk). Sometimes in the midst of the chaos and physical demands and trying to keep up, I remind myself that you are our miracle baby. And aren’t we lucky to being living in this whirlwind that includes your wild, toothy, snuggly self in it.
We had to check our hcg levels every 2 days when we were first pregnant with you. To see if you would stick. Then we got an ultrasound to see if an embryo was forming. Then a few weeks later, we got to hear your heartbeat. Erin’s office was amazing in that they encouraged us – knowing we had lost Abram and had multiple miscarriages – to come for a heartbeat check every week or so before we could feel you kick, just to reassure. Around 12 weeks or so, I ordered a home Doppler, knowing the relief it could provide. I remember laying on the bed while Sheaff read the directions, and we put the gel on my belly, moving the wand around, knowing we shouldn’t panic if we couldn’t find it that early. But let me tell you, when that fast little pitter patter came through the machine, I nearly cried with happiness again. The girls loved to find your heartbeat the whole time, same as I did, and any time we needed reassurance, we learned how to quickly find that sweet little beat of your heart. So fast, so promising. Sometimes when you lean your chest near my ear when I’m carrying you and you’re climbing, I hear that little heartbeat now and just smile because it’s still a bit of a miracle to me.
At two, you love trucks. Just like your sisters. You name them. You watch them. You listen for them. You point them out emphatically. “Me-meh!!” (cement mixer). “Dump dump!” “Trash truh!” You will talk about a monster truck for days. You will drop anything to watch Daniel Tiger, and think hot dogs are a special treat. You love the color yellow, and occasionally refuse to acknowledge that something is in fact green or blue or red, insisting on “yeh-yow!” Boots, flip flops, my old high heels, your sisters’ sneakers … you love any and all shoes, proving once again that you are so your Dad, who can’t wait until you fit into your Jordan’s.
You love to follow your sisters around. Addie gleefully picks out your clothes, and you two will dance to The Greatest Show and Hamilton all day. You and Bria bob around the backyard, taking turns on the swing and digging for worms, completely absorbed together in your tasks. You often find Abram’s hat and hug it; that was your brother’s, we tell you. You occasionally give your dad snuggles, and love falling asleep to Dave Matthews on Daddy nights. You love water, especially at the beach, jumping into our sand castle pools endlessly. You don’t want to hold anyone’s hand; you want to do it all yourself.
You are delighted by Quinn and Ro, and will copy anything John does, the sillier the better. You love Grace and “Fia!” and you think you are as old as everyone in our little co-op group, following everyone around to our activities like you are ready for sight words and adjectives. Every zoom call has a Bryce appearance. You love Mor Mor and Pop Pop days, and beg to “go!!” see Granny and Pops at the farmhouse. You’ll sit still and love on Oma, and are thrilled for Jean zooms and Papa visits. When you want to be held, sometimes you’ll lay your head on our shoulder and rub our back for a minute while you settle in.
Bath time is the best time, and sitting for meals is the worst. Any magnet trains are hooked together at least 40 times a day by you, and you are ready to cook pancakes any chance you get. Hide and go seek with Daddy and the girls leaves you with belly laughs and this shoulder-scrunch you do when you’re too excited to stand it. If I leave my phone on the counter in sight, I can expect you to climb up the lazy susan shelf, steal it, and “hide” in the corner of the couch watching clips. It’s concerning, but also impressive problem-solving on your part. You love watching sports, continually pointing and saying “Ball,” thrilled for any chance to clap. You know lyrics to Hamilton (#boom) and you can recognize Dave Matthews sans prompting.
COVID has been going for six months, so literally a quarter of your life has been in some version of quarantine. I hate that you’re growing up without Amazement Square exploring, no library story times, no playgrounds, no programs, no branching out with new friends. But when I watch you giggle chasing the girls on the whole mile-neighborhood loop or when you bring Sheaff La Croix in the middle of the day just to get a daddy-hug, or when we’ve gone on outdoor adventure after outdoor adventure, I’m not so sad for the time we’ve gotten with you.
You get into everything. You eat the tops of markers. You can climb any surface. You can joyfully spot scissors from a mile away. You are a bit of a diva when you don’t get your way, collapsing into a horizontal heap of tears at my feet. You don’t love sharing unless reassured by the Daniel Tiger jingle. You gave up your nap before 2 (seriously, kid?) and insist on buckling your carseat at snail speed every time. As the third kid, we let you wander a little further, a little more freely. We haven’t updated many photos around the house and the baby book I wanted so badly for you is on a shelf, wondering what the heck your favorite food was at 6 months.
But baby boy, you are here. And every day, every single day, I am grateful for your belly laughs, your big hugs, your wiggly run and your head rested on our shoulder. When you’re older and life has bumps, I hope you can put your hand on your chest and feel that steady heartbeat and know. Know we’ve been listening to and loving the sound of your heart since before you came into this world. Know the sound of your heart is full of all the things we felt when it first started growing – joy, peace, hope and all the love.
You’re two today, and I don’t know if you’ll keep loving trucks and yellow and dressing up and running wild, but I know, since we held your tiny newborn self, all stretched out and pensive in a rocket ship onesie and forehead wrinkles piled up….you’re our bookend, who made this family feel whole.
I love you, sweet boy.
-Mama
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