This is a post I am writing because you turned 10 (2 months ago but don’t hold that against me).
Ten years ago it was just me and you. Long days of feeding, changing, rocking, singing and desperately trying to work out what might make you happier.
It turns out not much worked. But that’s ok.
You taught me how to parent.
Your vulnerability and dependence and the fact that you preferred me over everyone else around ( I tried everyone else I could find) made me believe that no matter what it might look like from the outside we were building a bond. Even though you cried a lot, you cried at me, with me, on me. You also smiled and giggled and we had a million reciprocal conversations made up of gurgles and coos. Even though I felt completely unqualified and definitely not the right person for the job most days, you insisted I was.
Those hours I spent with you and you with me, that investment has made me very wealthy. I now get to hang out with you and have conversations using actual words. And boy do you know a lot of words. We challenge each other often with opposing arguments and different points of view. And even though you don’t double your weight in a few months anymore, still you keep changing and shifting and developing and delighting me at every turn.