Hey cutie patootie. (That’s my favorite nickname for you right now. I have to get it in now before you learn how to roll your eyes!)
The World Cup is happening right now, which means our television is tuned to ESPN during all waking hours and your father is using words like “beautiful,” and “idiot,” neither of which he normally says very often. (He’s describing goals and players who flop, in case you were wondering.)
This also means that you are now the proud owner of two soccer balls (one large and plush from Ikea, and one that is miniature and belonged to your dad). The funny thing is, you love them! I’m sure it has something to do with the way they are easy to hold on to, or the way the high-contrast black and white color is good for your growing brain. But mostly, I ascribe it to the fact that you are your father’s son.
As you’ve played with these more and more, we’ve noticed that you love to throw things. You frantically shake your arms up and down and loosen your grip, and the ball goes flying (as does the spoon, the sippy cup, the remote, etc.). Your aim could use a little work, but I’m no tiger mom.
What amazes me most about this is how quickly your personality has emerged, and how you are clearly all boy.
When your dad and I first got married, I quickly learned that boys love to throw things. Growing up with only sisters didn’t prepare me for this. I was constantly wondering why your dad wouldn’t just hand me the car keys, instead of tossing them across the room. Even now, he thinks it’s crazy that I would walk up the stairs to bring him something that could clearly just be thrown over the bannister.
One day, I’m sure, your sister will ask you for her book off the coffee table, and instead of walking over to her, you’ll toss it. And she’ll probably gripe about it.
But you just tell her it’s because you’re like your dad. K?
Love you, bud.