Dear Joshua,
Yesterday you turned thirty one months old. You are closer now to three years old than you are to two. I can hardly remember being able to hold you easily in the crook of my arm and I can already picture you as a ten or twelve year old boy.
The other night you were sitting there being the opposite of your usual self and you were patiently listening to Julianna read some stories to you. I looked in on the two of you when it had been too quiet for some time. I saw her reading and handing you a silly band every time you would stay seated and be still. Then I heard her say, "Josh, do I need to take a band?" as you got up on your knees and started wiggling. It was the sweetest act of pretend play I had seen in some time. Of course, I know where Julianna got her ideas from but she managed to get you to behave a lot more effectively than your father and I can lately.
This month you've managed to give the best talkers in this family a run for their money with all of the talking you've done. It is nonstop from the second I pick you up from school until the second you fall asleep at night.
You don't recognize letters like your sister could at this age, but you're getting close. Sometimes in the car you'll ask me what a number is on a sign or whatever you see out the window.
You still sleep well at night and take decent afternoon naps. You still eat like a bird and you still scream about the sun in your eyes during more than half of our car rides. You still wear 24 month clothes.
When we went strawberry picking a few weeks ago you enjoyed saying you were strong enough to help carry the bucket and when Daddy caught a stray baseball at the Dash game last weekend right away you just wanted to throw it. When we went bowling for your cousin's birthday party you longed to hold the bowling ball and roll it all by yourself. You find a stick in the yard and immediately you want to hold it like a weapon. You beg for Superman pajamas. You are my boy.
You've started asking about ghosts in your room and a lot of times at night you'll make me verify that there aren't any robots or ghosts or monsters around and that they aren't real. Everything, and I do mean EVERYTHING, ends with the question "Why?"
I was thinking earlier about how it seems like you're not having many "firsts" anymore, but then I realized that you are still having "firsts" they're just a little different than they used to be when you were a baby and I can enjoy that. Besides, there are some firsts that I don't even want to think about just yet. After all, you are my baby no matter how much you want to be my big boy.
I love you little blonde haired, brown eyed boy. And I love your slobbery wet kisses too!
Love,
Mama
