Dear Son #2,
Wow. My dear sweet William. I can’t believe you’re three years old today. And still have all of your limbs intact. Daddy and I agree that you are the good child. Sorry Pieter and Alexander but your brother is the easiest for us when it comes to “doing life” with you three. It’s not a favoritism thing at all because I love you all equally {most days}. It’s just a solid fact.
William, you’re sweet, you’re kind, you’re funny, you listen {most days}, you dole out hugs and kisses without making us wrestle you for them, you’re always willing to help, you put others’ needs ahead of your own, and you’re just So. Darn. Cute.
When it comes to being easy on yourself though, you’re terrible. I have honestly never met such a disaster-prone human being in my entire life. And how we’ve only been to the emergency room once with you is an utter miracle. While I’m pinning it on the fact you feel the need to keep up with your much more coordinated older brother, you’re always looking in the opposite direction in which you are travelling, or the fact that you’re left-handed so maybe both feet are too – either way Daddy felt that a Costco-sized tub of Band-Aids was necessary to have as a regular household staple.
Right from birth, my dear boy, you took the hard way out. The nurses even nicknamed you the “Smurf Baby” and, trust me, it wasn’t because you were super small and cute. You just literally took the hardest route out.
Before you could walk you were getting into scrapes as you decided to fulfill your lifelong dream as a professional mountain climber. And by the age of 2 ½ I fear you had more concussions than Sidney Crosby (but much less whiney). Unfortunately, the thought, “Oh, maybe I shouldn’t do that again” never seemed to occur to you whenever you fell off a stationary object.
And when we’re at the trailer, your primary outfit is underwear and a lifejacket because although you still don’t quite have “dock balancing” mastered yet, potty training is definitely getting there!
Every time you put something over top of your head and run around pretending to be a ghost – I cringe. (You still have that Harry Potter scar from when you ran headlong into a cinderblock wall).
Every time you climb up super high on the monkey bars – I say a prayer.
Every time you run full tilt down a hill or try to balance on a retaining wall – I bite my lip.
Every time you have a wrestling match with Pieter – I wait for the thump.
Every time you walk down the stairs – I look away.
Every time you get out of bed in the morning and start a new day – I wait for the bump, the crash, the smack, the tumble and {usually} the “I’M OKAY!” that follows.
Happy 3rd Birthday my darling boy, try not to burn your finger on the candle, pop a balloon in your face or get a paper cut from the wrapping paper.
We all love you so much, and whatever you do, never stop being you. We have lots of Band-Aids.
Love Mommy,
xox
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