To my 28-month-old

Dear Sophia,

I know, I know, I said once you turned two I would stop counting your age in months. And I have, but once in a while I have to think about it in that way to remind myself of how young you are. You don't act that young. In fact, you act older than most adults that I know. This includes the tantrums that you throw, oh, ten times a day.

You have changed in so many ways in such a short period of time: You know every word in the English language and half the words in the Spanish language, thanks to Dora and Diego. I have never seen anyone, besides me, get so excited about peeing and pooping in a potty. Plus, you have become quite the negotiator. For example, when you threw a book across the room and it hit me in the face, your reaction to my exclamation of pain was, "It's okay, it's just my princess book." When I stepped on something while trying to get to my computer, again yelping in pain, you said, "It's okay, it's just my plastic kangaroo." When I entered the room while you were eating lunch, and asked why the floor around your booster seat seemed like it was covered with glue, you shrugged, "It's okay, it's just all of my apple juice."
There is no way, no possible way, to be 10 steps ahead of you.

Part of your development is learning fear. You suddenly say you are scared of things, even though I have tried to enthusiastically shrug off most things as not scary. Halloween has had a lot to do with it, I think. Last week when I took you down the Halloween aisle in the drugstore hoping to find some new candy that I could not live without, about 1000 animated decorations started hooting and howling and groaning at us. All you did was jump in my arms, while I took off running. I have always hated Halloween, it demeans the paranormal and the spiritual, but that is a conversation that we will have when you are a little older. When daddy is not around.

There is really nothing to be scared of in this world, sweets. Besides Republicans. We are given the capability to endure anything, that is what I want you to know. But there is absolutely no way you can know this without learning it first hand, and I hate it, I hate that I have to stand by and watch. I think you woke up from a bad dream last night, so I had to hold you and rock you and rub your back for a while. Then I did the unthinkable: I put you back in bed. You wailed and screamed, "Don't leave me, Mommy!"
I know it seemed like I did leave you. But you have no idea, kiddo, the tears I cried while standing outside your door for the five-minute eternity that it took for you to fall back asleep.

Then I smiled, as I pulled a card from your deck. Into the dark, I whispered, "It's okay, it's just a hard lesson." For us both. The truth behind that lesson is that there is no possible way that I could ever leave you.

Love,
Mom