A Not So Turkish Life

M: 19 months

My darling son,

You are quite possibly the most stubborn, playful, wilfully illogical, wildcard of love and emotion I have ever had the honour of meeting and whilst every day spent with you is a pleasure of insurmountable heights, it is too the most terrifying challenge and test of myself. I love you, MKM, which is a very good thing!

At nineteen months, you

immitate a believable monkey and cluck a convincing chicken speech
say “arrrrrrrh!” rather a lot as you hide Spiderman under the pit of your arm
and melt my heart with your grin-filled cries of “Ammmmmy!”

You love sniffing your way along the spice rack, with ginger a current fave
and are obsessed with the blender and dicing up vegetables.
You either eat or you don’t, though chocolate milk is always in.

You have a smile that fills your cheeks
And eyelashes to take mascara off the market.
The swirl of a curl that you’ve had since a newborn is thickening and swirling some more.

You are all at once a baby and a grown up little man
You spend a whole lot of time with your tongue out as you ponder the questions of the day;
“a bah wu wu wuuuuoo” “a wuuooo ooo”.

You are a fantastic loving brother
and Tarkan adores you so, as you hold him and kiss him softly on the top of his head,
unlayer him to match your current body temp, take his nappy off, provide a finger to suck on, cover him completely with teddies and toys pushed into the chair alongside him.

You only listen to Baba when it’s ticking off time,
Scream murder when I try to put you to bed.
You become so very easily frustrated, apologise instantly with a cuddle – hold near, let go, then squeeze tight.
We rub noses, and high five
Dance in circles, run on the spot, patter cake for the bakers man
and wriggle and squiggle Seal style.
We are either the best of best friends or I’m the worst of your pets,
I wish I knew how the former prevented the latter, or replaced it complete.

You unload the dishwasher, un-hang the clothes from the airer, pull the socks out and relace half away again.
You are compulsive about dusting and adore sock puppet dusters,
You’re such a very big help as you water the plants, and I thank you for this, oh Turkish one.

Together we travel the city, your little brother and you and I,
and as you hop in and out of your pushchair, into and off again my lap
I give thanks for your being such a curious wide soul,
and watch you, bouncing ringlets framing the nape of your neck, explain a most indepth theory to entranced passengers;
and hear you delightedly “Ahuhuh” in response to the plans I lay out
and join with you in opening arms as transport doors open and shut
and am lifted up by you, prescence and soul, in all the journeys we discover on an ordinary life.

Keep smiling, Babyone. That smile can take us all far.

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This entry was published on 10/31/2012 at 11:27 and is filed under Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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