Letters

Well, I'm late in writing this letter to you. The past weeks have been pretty busy. I had an Orchestra concert, and have been gone all day for several days in the past while. It's hard on your Mama to have me gone all day. Especially because we've started to potty train you.

You're doing pretty well at it, although it will take some time to really get it down. I think you'll pick it up pretty quickly, as you do with so many other things. We haven't been very consistent about it in the past, but now we're on day 3 of being serious. If I could make a request, please, please learn quickly. It will make life easier for everyone. Having said that, I'm excited for you to take this next big step in growing up. You're taking responsibility for more things lately, and can do many things on your own, like brushing your teeth and putting your shoes on. I love to watch you do things yourself.

Part of the reason this letter is so late is that we're still working our way through the aftermath of a miscarriage. Mama had a surgery in the hospital, and all of the physical effects from that took some time to settle down. And the miscarriage has set off a small emotional storm in our house. There are so many feelings swirling around, and it also brings up lots of emotional things from the past. The current emotional blow is compounded when you add it to an already overwhelming list of issues to work through. Every day when I look at you I have two emotions in my heart. I'm so glad I have you. I love you so much. You are such a blessing to our family. But at the same time I can't help but think about the blessing we should be bringing into our family this summer. It's hard to let all the hopes and dreams go. I love my two children very much. I know I would also love three children very much.

With the advent of warmer weather (we're not quite free of the cold yet, but we've had some good days) you've been able to go outside and kick balls around, or play other games. Several people have commented on how coordinated you are. And you really do have some talent there. You can swing a bat and hit balls that I pitch to you, and you kick balls back to me that I've kicked in your direction. You've always been a good throw, and you catch pretty well too. I'm nervous to have a kid that's athletic, because I know I'm not very coordinated or good at sports. But at the same time, I would love for you to not face the social stigmas I faced in early school years for being uncoordinated. I believe the confidence you gain from the social interactions at recess and in gym time are very important early on.

A few days ago I knelt down at your bed with you to say your bedtime prayer, and got a really nice surprise. I helped you say things, but you went much further. I said, prompting you, "I'm grateful that I could go to the park today," and you said (these words are not exact. It's the best I remember), "Thank you for I could go to the park today and I went down the turny slide and we watched the cars stop for the train." Then I said, "I'm grateful that I could see my cousins today," and you said, "Thank you that I can see my cousins today and play with Ezra and I went down the slide with Adri and Lauryn and flew a kite." You are normally so reticent to say your prayers, so it was surprising and thrilling to hear you add your own thoughts to your prayer. I love that your brain works like that. I like hearing the stories you make up, and the Thomas the Tank Engine vocabulary you use. I'm also thrilled when you pray.

I went to class with you in church today, to help with the potty training. I like sitting in the background and watching you interact with other adults. It's cute when you almost forget who you're talking to and say, "Ma-- Teacher! Teacher!" And then you go off on some story or memory. You have good teachers, and you really have learned to behave well.

I love you, Jonah. As I said earlier, I'm excited for you to potty train. It's such a big step in growing up. I hope you come out of it still feeling like your Mama and I love you very much. Because we do, no matter if it's hard for us at times to be patient about potty training. We want what's best for you, so you can grow into a fully-functioning and well-rounded adult. Potty training is the next big step for you in that growth. Good luck, and remember that I am always here for you.

Love,

Daddy

I'm cheating and back-dating this post so it will show up in the March archives instead of April. We are pretty solidly into April now, and I'm very late in writing this letter.

I think while you are still so new in this world the common theme in my letters to you is my amazement at watching you grow up. You are an absolute miracle. And I suppose every new child is a miracle on about the same level to those who love them. But you are MY miracle, a flower that may be beautiful to all, but unfolds its richest textures and deepest colors only to those who love it best. Lately you look so grown up to me. You can do so much more now than even a short while ago. I love to watch the concentration in your blue eyes while your little fingers are manipulating something you're not quite familiar with. You can make those fingers do so much more that they used to. My favorite part of that this month has been when you wiggle your fingers, for signs or for imitating me when I tickle you. You also point at a lot of things that you want me to notice. When I get you dressed after your bath you always point out your bedroom window, like you want to go outside. When we're outside you will point at airplanes (and sign airplane!) or the moon.

I may have mentioned this before, but I love when you come and look up at me with those beautiful eyes, knowing that your Daddy can help you with whatever it is you want. And if I'm not paying attention, you'll grab my pant legs and start dragging me in the direction you want me to go. So darn cute! You have such confidence in me, and I am inspired to be my best for you, and prove your confidence well-placed.

We have an appointment with a speech therapist for you later in April. You are still not talking, and the doctor wants to have you evaluated. I am not worried about you at all. You babble a lot, and will imitate sounds we make sometimes too. Your one word so far is "Uh-oh." There is so much intelligence in your actions and shining through your eyes, I am confident you can pick up talking any time you want. You have your signs, and I would guess you feel those are sufficient for now.

Your other medical issue for the month has been your rashy skin. Eczema is the technical term, I think. You would get lots of red splotches on your legs, behind your knees, inside your elbows, and on your torso, front and back. When we took you in to the doctor she gave you prescriptions for an oral steroid and some ointment, which have helped immensely. But I don't think the problem is gone yet, and I really hope it's not something that bothers you much longer in life.

You and Jonah are playing better and better together. This is quite the growing experience for him too. He still loves to rip things out of your hands and pester you to tears, but he also plays games with you and both your giggles echo through the house. I love your laugh, and the way you scrunch up your nose and eyes while you giggle.

It's hard to comprehend that just over a year and a half ago you were still waiting to join our family. It feels like you've been in our home and in my heart forever. And maybe you have. I am hard pressed to find words to describe how you just fit. It's a beautiful, peaceful feeling that gives me great comfort. I will always love you.

Love,

Daddy