Dear Sylvan,
You’re three! Here are some photos from your four Septembers:
Sylvan at twelve days old
Sylvan at his first birthday party. Mommy made three carrot sheetcakes (enough to feed approximately 823 people)
Sylvan at his second birthday party. Mommy made really yummy cream cheese centered chocolate cupcakes. We only had about two dozen left over.
Sylvan on his third birthday (thanks for the awesome crown, Aunt Stephanie!). For his kid birthday party, Mommy bought Market of Choice cupcakes. For this adult celebration in the park (Gramma Mia, Daddy, and Mommy), Gramma bought Sweet Life cake. Good choice.
When you were born, I fell even more deeply in love with your Dad, who was obviously created to parent — and to write and be married to a woman who occasionally (okay, often) needs her self-esteem fires stoked. After your birth, your Dad arose with you throughout the night, changing your diaper, swaddling you, shushing you, and handing you to me to feed you. He never lost his patience with your, let’s face it, incessant crying. Your crying reduced me to tears many times. I felt like I couldn’t help you, and it made me sad and angry. Problem solver that he is, your exhausted Dad knew he could deal with an eight-pound crying machine. I couldn’t believe how lucky I was to have decided to share my life with such a competent, uncomplaining, loving father.
Since Elena was born nearly a month ago, I’ve been reaching another level in my love for you. You have been nothing but gentle and sweet when it comes to your little sister. You pet her, kiss her head, talk to her in a little voice and tell her how soft she is, sing her the Tiny Tim turtle song when she cries, and bring her vehicles or stuffed animals, depending on your mood — and hers, probably. Today you told me that “Elena likes diggers, and I like dumpers” as you put a tractor with a front-loader attachment next to her little ear.
There’s no doubt that you’ve recently been acting out against your parents and grandparents, but, honestly, you’ve had more change in your little life in the past month than most people have in years: getting a new baby sister who is physically attached to Mommy for many hours a day and who has the privilege of sleeping in Mommy and Daddy’s bed; moving into yet another transitional home while we await the end of our house renovations (Next week? The week after? Christmas?); visiting our scaredy-cat, being fostered by Chandra and Eric, who was just starting to allow you to touch her when we were in the summer home and who has now only emerged from her closet hiding place to eat and use the litter box; having three grandparents and an auntie visit, which is super-exciting (and helpful!) but also routine-altering.
Anyway, the bottom line is that you’re handling all this superbly. I find myself just looking at you and smiling. You’re still crazy about trains and excited about singing. You still stop in your tracks when you hear a siren: “Where is it?” You still want to go to the library to hear Jeff play his auto-harp. You could play in the dirt for hours with your bulldozers and frontloaders. Thank you for being so flexible and understanding.
Additionally, this month you’ve developed quite an adorable story-telling style that involves putting your flattened hand either up against your face like you’re telling a secret or a few inches off your cheek as if you’re making a serious point. You change your voice, too, giving your words a sotto voce, dramatic flair. (Taking after Daddy, huh? I can’t believe you even allow me to tell you stories after hearing how creative and fascinating Daddy’s are.) I won’t lie: your storytelling style is so silly I sometimes wonder if you’ve had one too many gin and tonics.
Love,
Mommy
