As I write this, you’re both upstairs in your room together, making up imaginary games, listening to audiobooks, gently clambering on each other (I trust you not to hurt each other), reading books.
You’ve been sharing a bedroom for nearly a year – and honestly, I could not imagine it any other way. I’m so excited to get you some bunk beds and can already hear your little squeals of joy at climbing into them together. I’m struck on a daily basis not just by how lucky I am to be your mama, but also by how lucky you are to have each other. We’ll make it outside soon enough, but for now, I don’t interrupt you at all. You know where I am, and I know where you both are.
Jack, let’s start with you. Where do I start though? You’re changing so much every single day, I can hardly keep up. Just when I think you’re a fully fledged kidult, who understands the world, who asks if he can help make falafel with me, who notices litter, who says ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ with total confidence, who takes himself off to devour Roald Dahl, I am checked by one of your mispronunciations (‘vench’ for ‘bench’, ‘tug of wall’ for ‘tug of war’ and so many more) or your sudden waves of tiredness when you need time out and have a total melt down, or the fact that you *still* love your wooden train track. I could not be more excited for you to begin school in September, which by the way I’m crossing all my fingers turns out as well as I’m hoping. This week we need to make the piece of bunting that every family who joins the school is asked to provide so I’m sure we’ll have fun doing that together. I’m already imagining the first day I’ll drop you off at the school gates where I’ll give you a giant kiss goodbye, try to choke back the years (sort of like I’m doing right now writing this) and watch you stroll in in your slightly oversized jumper. I’ll take you for a piece of chocolate cake afterwards so you can tell me and Sonny all about it, and we’ll the three of us walk to school every morning, talking as we go, occasionally dropping Sonny off at nursery on the way, occasionally stopping for a coffee for mama. I really can’t wait.
Sonny, you are the cheekiest, sweetest two year old of them all! I cannot believe we thought you’d be the ‘quiet one’! Whilst you love nothing more than cuddles and sitting on my lap (you are the human teddy bear), your personality is fierce and you are sharp as a whistle. You know your name, exactly what you want, and you’re not afraid to say it out loud. In fact, your language knows no bounds right now (‘Let’s go home and chill out’) and you’re having so much fun playing with your identity and sense of self (‘I’m so cute’. Yep, you kind are). I’m trying to start some gentle potty training with you which is progressing slowly but surely, but there’s really no rush. You love eating – you’re always the first and the last at the table – and adore sleeping – you can easily stay in your cot until 9am, go to sleep at lunch time for 3-4 hours, before bed again maybe at around 8pm. I’m not complaining, and I let you soak it all up before tentatively coming into your bedroom if it goes over 4 hours. You are still obsessed with your Ewan the sheep (‘Ishy’) and love sleeping right on top of him, using him as a pillow and we watch him turn a nice shade of grey more and more each day. You are grabbing life by the horns Sonny chops, and it’s so beautiful to see. You and Jack argue and tussle, of course you do, but I honestly try to stay out of it as much as you can, and you often end up resolving it between yourselves.
There’s so, so much more to say about you two, but for now, I think I’ll just wander downstairs to you where you’ve both found yourselves since I’ve started writing this, and pour myself some coffee. I love you both so freakin’ much.