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h my darling Kicky Kaks,

I’m beginning this letter with this photograph because it captures the essence of everything Courtland in one quick frame. You are a total ham, my darling. A ridiculous, hilarious, frenetic ball of energy that sweeps through our home leaving laughter and laundry and trash and tears and books and mud in its trace. You have a smile that kills me dead with every over-the-top “CHEETH!” and accompanying giggle. You set out to make us smile, and for that, we are eternally grateful. You bring us so much joy.

I’ve been saying it for 20 months, but the highs with you are so very high, and the lows, well, like a black hole. There’s this new Tumblr called “Reasons My Son Is Crying” and I could so very easily create a comparably absurd tribute to your wails of discontent on a hourly basis.

I didn’t let you take your nap in the refrigerator.

Grass tastes funny.

You’re wearing shoes.

I didn’t put toothpaste on the toothbrush in under 0 seconds.

Dog food is not your dinner.

Ursa licked your hand.

Your sister is now playing with the book that you flung across the room in disgust.

I won’t let you sit in that puddle of water.

You’re wet.

Daddy didn’t let you hold the butcher knife.

I didn’t buckle you into your highchair.

I did buckle you into your highchair.

And so on…

Your world is more tumultuous and drama-filled than a day time soap. And your execution of a full on tantrum of body and soul is Oscar-worthy. The arching and flailing and kicking culminates in the defeated limp body with great shrieks and screams fading into a staged and lugubrious wail. You will literally plod around the house, shoulders slumped, moaning on queue whenever you notice that our attention is aimed your way. It reminds me of this priceless display. You toddlers sure are a piece of work. I now understand the whole “terrible twos,” a phenomenon foreign to this household until your arrival. Much like your height, you’re tackling this milestone ahead of the curve.

But despite all the tears, and boy does it feel like our days are tuned to a soundtrack of your cries, there truly is so much happiness. And cheeky smiles. And laughter. And delight. And babbling new language and attempts at communication. I will never forget what it feels like for you to stop the world in its tracks by holding my face in your hands and planting a kiss on my mouth, just because the moment struck you as one to pause and demonstrate your affection. I treasure that about you.

Happy 20 months, kiddo. You sure are on your way to 2.

143 Mama