Letter 2.10

Dear Marion,

You are two months away from being three years old and I’d like for time to stop.

{ sometimes, you now read to Dada at night }

But not for any sweet or sentimental reasons this go round. Oh no. It’s because I’ve seen the future and it’s not very pretty. I knew this would come at some point but it didn’t stop me from hoping that somehow we’d escape it. It’s that time, that stage, where your independence has maxed out my patience. And from what I hear, it’s only going to get worse when you’re three.

{ sometimes, I’m a lazy parent }


{ the elusive and rarely seen sleeping Widget }

I’m constantly struck by how much looking at you is like looking into a mirror. You are so very, very, very much like me and sometimes, I am really disappointed in myself and how I react to you, when I know that’s not how I would want things to be. You and your little, expressive, sensitive face sometimes seem to be an impossibly high standard to measure myself against.

{ top gun chic }

We’re getting better at this though. So far, we haven’t reached a problem that isn’t solvable by a good five minute snuggle and a few “I’m sorries” from each of us. I think the best quality of you (that you most assuredly did not get from me!) is your ability to just let things go. I certainly hope you did not get my grudge holding gene!

{ strong MarMar muscles }

Also, you are incredibly funny. I don’t know where you got the comedic gene from but you have it in spades. You love watching Dinosaur Train and while I love the fact that it’s educating you while entertaining you, I love the fact that it entertains it me by watching you try to pronounce “stygimoloch” and “brontosaurus.” When we go up the levels of the parking garage to the gym, without fail you announce “Time tunnel, time tunnel approaching! Next stop, gym! In the Cretaceous time period!”

{ sometimes, life isn’t fair }

You continue to amaze me with how your memory is developing. You are constantly asking, what’s the plan mama? (And you don’t hesitate to tell me when you don’t think the plan is good.) You like to know each step and how the day is going to go, hour by hour. We were going to swim class and had to stop by the ATM. I also needed to break it (why oh why won’t ATMs give you $10 bills I don’t know) but anyway, I was going to stop by Starbucks and get some fuel for swim class and break the $20. So as we were getting in the car, you asked, “what’s the plan mama?” I said, “We’re going to the bank and getting some money. Then getting mama some coffee and on to swim class.” You said, “Dat’s a good plan mama!” and off we went. As we were pulling away from the ATM, you said “We going to swim class now mama?” I told you that yes, we were. It took you about 0.05 seconds to say, “No mama! We’ getting you coffee DEN swim class! You so silly mama!” You little trickster you.

{ your crazy empanada eating face }

This month has also began the much dreaded sibling rivalry stage as Eliza is both mobile and annoying! Seriously, she just loves you so much and wants to be right where you are, playing with what you’re playing with, all the time. That’s just a sign she loves you, right? That, and it’s just part of her right as the little sister to be annoying. I have a hard time stopping her from stealing your toys when I see you slyly giving her a hip check when you think I’m not watching.

{ breaking out the big cart in Target }

I still think your life is made so much richer by Eliza. There are no words to explain how much I love hearing you say “Come play with me little sister” or “I need kisses from Eliza too!” I love to watch you nurture her and take care of her and when I see you opting to play with her at the gym (I peek in on you two a lot and you don’t see me), man, I just melt.

{ peace. for the moment }

So you’re growing, you’re learning, you’re thriving, you’re pushing boundaries and occasionally practicing self control. You’re well on your way to being three years old and practically a teenager. And all I can do is hope to keep up!

{ my grown girl }



This entry was posted in letters to my daughters, Marion. Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Letter 2.10

  1. gigi says:

    sooooooo much like her momma
    this old momma sure misses those years…they were fun and frustrating and way too quick!
    love ya’ll

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