Eugenious

Dear Sylvan,

I was preoccupied the other day when I should have written your last letter before your THIRD birthday. Buying primer for the broken house, trying to will the babe out of my then-burgeoning belly, ordering hexagonal tiles, showerheads, a sink, and toilet for our new bathroom, trying desperately and probably futilely to get you to continue napping. No real excuse, because you’re an amazing little person.

When Elena came home with us on Friday, you were a sweet, sweet boy, touching her gently and using quiet words. You brought her your helicopter and frontloader when she cried, thinking she might just need some vehicular happiness. Today was a different story, but, of course, life with a baby is sinking in for you a bit more. I’ll count it as a victory that only two people, neither of whom was Elena, was purposefully kicked or hit in the face by you today.

My favorite Sylvanism from this past month:

“Daddy, can you persuade the street sweeper to come by and clean up our street?”

I don’t think you were particularly concerned with road hygiene; you were just a little low on your vehicle quota.

I love you, Sylvan, and I particularly like it when you grab my arm when I’m about to leave your room for the night, just so you can get a few more moments of Mommy love. Tephra has a similar ploy.

Love,

Mommy