Close to two months have passed since your second birthday and here I am finally writing you this letter. Two months ago, this letter may have sounded different. You were my baby, just turned two, I would have told you how much I love you and how happy you make me and how much you love cars. Now, with everything that's happened since your birthday, I'll be telling you the same things, but with a lump in my throat. The same things, with extra appreciation. The same things, with an extra large topping of "I love you."And yes, of course, you still love cars.
We've gotten closer, you and me. We spent an intense five days living together, cooped up in a tiny room. I was everything to you, I was your protector from the White Coats. You were my every thought. I watched you sleep for hours. I willed you to get better. I begged God to make me sick instead of you.
And then you got better and you couldn't go to nursery because we couldn't risk you getting sick until your treatment ended, so we got to spend more time together. And that's when you discovered Mother Goose Club. And you learnt all the nursery rhymes by heart, and you learnt the alphabet and your speech became so much clearer, and you call yourself Superman (which of course, you are) and you walk the way you think Superman should walk. And you got tall. Taller than you already were.
And you call things "cute" in the sweetest of ways. And you love animals passionately. And your sister too. And yet you fight like cats and dogs. And you climb all over her, and you hit her, not recognizing your own strength. But you are good at apologizing, and you give the best hugs. And the best head ruffles. But only on your own terms.
You're a cheeky monkey, and you know it. You have a wicked sense of humour and you love making people laugh. You're very much like your uncle in that way. And you're strong willed and hard headed and you can throw a tantrum like no other.
Right now, you're frustrated, you're even angry sometimes and you say so. We know you need more, you were so ready for nursery, and yet we have had to hold you back. The summer heat is crippling and you only have the house to run around in. I suspect these four walls are closing in on you. It will get better soon, I promise. I'm not sorry - I can't be sorry when the risks feel so high. I'd rather have you frustrated for a few months than risk losing you. You are my cheeky sunshine, I can't imagine life without you.
So bear with us, please. We love you and we are trying to keep you safe. We are so terrified of ever having to see you (or your sister) go through what you went through again. But we'll come out the other side and one day soon, all this will be a distant memory.
But for now, hold on to your cars, and your Mother Goose Club, and your Superman act. Keep asking me to chase you around the house. Keep asking me to take you to the pool. Keep twirling your feet the way you did as a little baby. Keep asking me to find your Clothy's "corners." Keep coming to me for snuggles, laying your head on my shoulder, and keep smiling that beautiful, dimpled smile at me.
I still have a lot of your delicious orange juice to drink.
Your Mummy x
This blog is now closed. The story continues over on Flip Flops and Flying Carpets.
Thank you for reading.
Thank you for reading.