And yes, Im late with writing this one. I had to give it - a great deal of thought.
You turned three, last week.
You love robots, and cars, and puppies, and your faverate color is bright red. You follow me around and try to help me with everything, and if you could be cuddled all day, I think you would be.
You have the most gentle touch in the world. Even Mena, our most delicate cat, so badly abused before we got her, adores you, and lets you pet her. She sits with you, when you are sick, or upset - which is often.
You are an emotional little boy. Its a constant roller coaster of ups and downs. You hate loud noises, and your sister, teasing you.
And she teases you ceaselessly. She knows she can get away with it, most of the time.
You share everything, and never say no to her. You dont seem to have a selfish bone in your little body.
We call your dimple, your "kiss catcher". Your smile is like sunshine - all warmth and brightness and honesty.
You love people. You can be shy, but usually warm up to people remarkably fast, and love to touch buttons, necklaces and earrings - anything that gets you close to them, preferably into their laps.
You love to be swung around, and carried, but you dont like to do things on your own. Even walking over a steep bridge, the angle of it scares you, but I can hang you upside down by your ankles and you laugh yourself stupid.
And your laugh. Oh god, I dont think theres anybody left who isnt totally adoring of your laugh. Its quite possibly the best sound in the whole world.
You literally, roll out of bed each morning, right onto the floor. Its why you dont have a bed-frame yet. And you are usually smiley, in the morning. Bouncing up and asking for toast and juice and robots. Or sometimes, my faverate, is when you look at me and ask "Watch you doin here?"
You cling, when we carry you, and bury your head in our necks.
Your faverate foods are chicken nuggets, and fruit bars. and Wheaties. Although I think that last one is just to keep your sister from stealing your cheerios, because Ive started to notice that although you ask for them, you dont actually eat them much.
At this moment, I see you in the future in a job where touch is important. A doctor, a therapist. Something very tactile and personal.
That is, if you could ever get your memory up to par.
You get so frustrated, and lost, when you cant find your cup. Your sister these days, when she finds it, hands it to you forcefully and says "Here, cup!"
But she adores you, as much as you do her. And whenever you hurt yourself, she comes and brings you blankets, and your puppy, and hugs you, and tells you everythings ok. And every morning, when we drop her off for pre-school, you get a kiss goodbye.
I spoil you, a bit too much, when we go out together, while your sister is at school. You get upset, so easily, that sometimes, its the only thing I know to fix it. In another week or so, we take you to get your official diagnoses. I am both looking forward to, and dreading this. But to have it over and done with, will be good. For all of us.
Since putting you in my arms, three years ago, I have come to the solid conclusion that no woman's life is complete, until she has a son. Its possibly a terrible thing to say, but - I do feel sorry for them. I tell people "Your boy will look at you, every day, the way you only wish your husband would know how to"
I know you're a "mama's boy" but I think at three - thats still ok.
If at 16, your still this adoring and clingy, well, then Ill know somethings screwed up. *laughs*.
I cant say that I love you more then your sister. But shes so independent, and so - sassy, that I have a very different kind of love for her. With you, I am very much - "mama" and I adore it.
Happy birthday, my little snuggle-bug...
I love you.
11/27/10
11/13/10
Happy Birthday, Akiva Grace.
Yesterday, you turned four.
You wanted dry cheerios for breakfast, for the first time, didnt cry when I measured you. You watched "robots" all day - Iron man and Transformers.
When I left you at school, you screamed so loud in anger that everybody actually stopped and looked.
when I picked you up, you ran to me, calling out "Thats the mama!" and gave me a hug.
When I put you to bed, you pouted, and it was only after I went on a ramble, that I got a response from you. I said "I know that mama can be stupid sometimes" and you rolled your eyes as if to say "no shit" - and promptly stuck your finger up your nose.
Which thankfully, I know is my cue to take the finger out saying "Nooooo nononono" and start tickling you madly - and I knew that whatever I had done to upset you, I was forgiven.
You dont really talk, and it makes life very hard for us. But we know you are smart. We believe you to be already borderline genius, just from what we can see that you understand. Comments like the one above. Or your ability to remember entire movie scripts so easily.
You love dinosaurs, fairy's, and robots. You have a pink blanket. Its your "beeka" still. You dont carry it around with you as much as you used to, but you still do occasionally. Your Grandma and Grandpa Trehearne got it for you when you were born. It used to have stars and moons imprinted on it. They are long gone.
Your faverate colors are pink and purple. You like bright, loud, and sparkly clothes. We tend to call you our little rock star. or our little Nicole Kidman. The first thing anybody ever says upon seeing you is how beautiful your hair is, and I think you, along with us, are already tired of hearing about it.
I love your eyes, and your lips, even more. You have the most perfect little bow tie pout. And the clearest, bluest eyes, under those red bangs.It combines to make you a rather shockingly beautiful child. And since you are smart, and very obviously a Type A personality (like mama) - You're going to have a rough time of things.
You love to boss people around that you know. Your brother suffers under your lash most often. You get so angry, when he doesnt do what you want him to. You've hit him, and even pushed him down the stairs twice. But he adores you. And you love him. My faverate moments, these days are when you two are cuddling on the couch together, or on good mornings, when you give him a kiss before we leave you at school.
Youve been diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder. And yes, Im a horrible mother. You have a touch of Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. When you get older, please dont use that against me - I feel bad about it already, and am still trying to come to grips with the constant guilt and grief there.
At the same time, Im not going to go easy on you. I went my whole life on the spectrum, with FAS, and it was undiagnosed. And if I can get where *I* am - you can definitely go further, with the knowledge and assistance available to you.
You have some amazing strengths. You love to organize and have amazing fine motor skills. You can stack the tiniest thing, and the largest, with a natural precision that alot of adults cant compare with. You have unlimited patience for a task, and can be content for hours, doing one thing. You are a perfectionist. And want things just how you want them, and love to clean.
There have been days, where you have cleaned your own room, made your own bed, then moved on and done the same in Jades, and then *ours*. Granted, you tend to toss daddies blanket on the ground, and spread mine out to cover the whole bed, and get angry at him for messing it up, by putting his up. (His, my dear, is the Queen sized blanket, mine is just a twin) But you do a good job, never the less.
You also love to fight with your brother over who helps me clean the kitchen. Emptying and restocking the dishwasher, mostly - but you are getting big enough, almost to start putting things away too.
You dont like unloading groceries, quite as much though, and that tends to be your brothers faverate thing.
The entire time Ive been sitting here, typing this, you have sat in silence, at the end of the couch, intently watching Ironman. Sometimes you rock back and forth a bit, but otherwise, theres nothing. Your brother, has been sitting in the easy chair, vocalizing the oddest sounds. I think you like it, in part, because Pepper Pots is a red head too.
You are a Daddies Girl, of course. Wrapped around your finger tight and secure. But when you get hurt, you still come to me.
You - Akiva Grace, are a shooting star. I fiery, energetic, mesmerizing, ball of sparkle and optimism. You already understand restraint, and when to just let loose.
You amaze us daily, and I couldnt love you any more then I do this moment. You have redefined my world, and I adore you for it.
Happy Birthday, Akiva.
You wanted dry cheerios for breakfast, for the first time, didnt cry when I measured you. You watched "robots" all day - Iron man and Transformers.
When I left you at school, you screamed so loud in anger that everybody actually stopped and looked.
when I picked you up, you ran to me, calling out "Thats the mama!" and gave me a hug.
When I put you to bed, you pouted, and it was only after I went on a ramble, that I got a response from you. I said "I know that mama can be stupid sometimes" and you rolled your eyes as if to say "no shit" - and promptly stuck your finger up your nose.
Which thankfully, I know is my cue to take the finger out saying "Nooooo nononono" and start tickling you madly - and I knew that whatever I had done to upset you, I was forgiven.
You dont really talk, and it makes life very hard for us. But we know you are smart. We believe you to be already borderline genius, just from what we can see that you understand. Comments like the one above. Or your ability to remember entire movie scripts so easily.
You love dinosaurs, fairy's, and robots. You have a pink blanket. Its your "beeka" still. You dont carry it around with you as much as you used to, but you still do occasionally. Your Grandma and Grandpa Trehearne got it for you when you were born. It used to have stars and moons imprinted on it. They are long gone.
Your faverate colors are pink and purple. You like bright, loud, and sparkly clothes. We tend to call you our little rock star. or our little Nicole Kidman. The first thing anybody ever says upon seeing you is how beautiful your hair is, and I think you, along with us, are already tired of hearing about it.
I love your eyes, and your lips, even more. You have the most perfect little bow tie pout. And the clearest, bluest eyes, under those red bangs.It combines to make you a rather shockingly beautiful child. And since you are smart, and very obviously a Type A personality (like mama) - You're going to have a rough time of things.
You love to boss people around that you know. Your brother suffers under your lash most often. You get so angry, when he doesnt do what you want him to. You've hit him, and even pushed him down the stairs twice. But he adores you. And you love him. My faverate moments, these days are when you two are cuddling on the couch together, or on good mornings, when you give him a kiss before we leave you at school.
Youve been diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder. And yes, Im a horrible mother. You have a touch of Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. When you get older, please dont use that against me - I feel bad about it already, and am still trying to come to grips with the constant guilt and grief there.
At the same time, Im not going to go easy on you. I went my whole life on the spectrum, with FAS, and it was undiagnosed. And if I can get where *I* am - you can definitely go further, with the knowledge and assistance available to you.
You have some amazing strengths. You love to organize and have amazing fine motor skills. You can stack the tiniest thing, and the largest, with a natural precision that alot of adults cant compare with. You have unlimited patience for a task, and can be content for hours, doing one thing. You are a perfectionist. And want things just how you want them, and love to clean.
There have been days, where you have cleaned your own room, made your own bed, then moved on and done the same in Jades, and then *ours*. Granted, you tend to toss daddies blanket on the ground, and spread mine out to cover the whole bed, and get angry at him for messing it up, by putting his up. (His, my dear, is the Queen sized blanket, mine is just a twin) But you do a good job, never the less.
You also love to fight with your brother over who helps me clean the kitchen. Emptying and restocking the dishwasher, mostly - but you are getting big enough, almost to start putting things away too.
You dont like unloading groceries, quite as much though, and that tends to be your brothers faverate thing.
The entire time Ive been sitting here, typing this, you have sat in silence, at the end of the couch, intently watching Ironman. Sometimes you rock back and forth a bit, but otherwise, theres nothing. Your brother, has been sitting in the easy chair, vocalizing the oddest sounds. I think you like it, in part, because Pepper Pots is a red head too.
You are a Daddies Girl, of course. Wrapped around your finger tight and secure. But when you get hurt, you still come to me.
You - Akiva Grace, are a shooting star. I fiery, energetic, mesmerizing, ball of sparkle and optimism. You already understand restraint, and when to just let loose.
You amaze us daily, and I couldnt love you any more then I do this moment. You have redefined my world, and I adore you for it.
Happy Birthday, Akiva.
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