You’d think it would get old, you’d think that there could be nothing new to be gleamed from watching someone elses eyelashes twitch gently for the thousandth and one time. You’d be wrong. For two years and one night I’ve watched your eyelids start to dance as dreams play songs to your slumber and for two years and one night I’ve felt that privilege with the whole of our being. Whether you’re two years or twenty or two and twenty plus then and more; you started in my slumber and woke up all my dreams, your dreams are a part of my soul.
Tonight, finally conceding to sleep two hours since we’d begun the dance, you opened one eye half a slant, unfurled plump fingers cupped tightly round the glass and released it with a cheeky half-grin. Letting laughter refrain any cross words from forming, I kissed your eyelids, slipped the glass by the bed and held you dearly with all that I am as I thanked you for the reassurance I’m getting some of this right – you never doubted you could let that grin slip. I pray MKM as your next two years starts for the guidance to see them out with that trust wholly intact: Please don’t ever keep hold of your smile.
Dearest Babyone, yesterday we celebrated the years you’ve spent with us in this life. Today, I celebrate the living you have ahead, years of dreams Allah will help you bring into life. The calendar date matters not, we celebrate you everyday, but it is a good excuse for some cake!
Happy Birth Day MKM, we’re so very glad you came.
At two years old you
love “tiiigers” and “Teeger”, hug “Poo Poo” when you wake in the morning,
fasten your own zips and poppers and pull socks off for toes to be counted and think sieves are simply in-Vogue for “ats”.
You love to pin “Tarrka” while giving “tikkatikka” tickles,
and act shocked by his responsive belly giggle.
You drive me quite potty with the hiding of everything everywhere, think “No” is the word of the minute: “NeNe”.
Your love for stone throwing surpasses any material game,
save down-the-stairs bowling of anything in your present line of sight.
Animals are listed morning, noon and night,
Dances are made to every heard beat.
“Cake” is requested almost as frequently as “tea”, which if lukewarm is rejected with a sad “No?”
You like to pick out the outfits that you’ll wear, taking T’s wardrobe responsibility on too,
You love making playdoh “owels”, fashioning noses onto my own, and building up “balls” into towers.
You choose words which make your tongue roll in figures, “ollllive” and “Keloğlan” are our favourites.
You hug all of us often and smile at us more, you throw a very good tantrum, roar a very impressive roar.
You have curls to top curls, and legs lengthening every day,
Would we leave you in peace for an hour you’d watch “Caillou” or “Poo-Poo” again and again, stopping for “El-Mo” and the alphabet when your crisps are all gone.
You’re so familiarly stubborn.
You love to hide yourself under carpets, or your brother with blankets over his head,
run circuits round the kitchen, squeal infectiously when you’re ‘caught’ at the post.
You love “baabbles” in the bath or blown airbound, can’t abide mess of anykind, anywhere. You’re two years and a day old and I’ve loved you forever and even more. All the way round and back again.