So our darling boy turned two on Saturday. Two. A lot has happened in his two short years of life: watched his daddy graduate from seminary, moved to a new state, went to Peru, helped us raise support, became a big brother, and fell in love with anything that has Thomas the Tank Engine on it. He’s even taken 15 airplane rides (not including lay-overs), and we are so happy that he now has to fly with his own seat. We were ready for that when he was 9 months old.
Jeremiah brings us joy every day. He is full of energy, passion, and opinions, and he is full of love, hugs, and sweetness. In one moment he can ram my ankles with his ride-on car, and the next sweetly run up to me asking if I’m okay because he knows I’m hurt. He does everything so passionately, and yet has such a chill, laid back approach to many new situations in life. He is an extrovert to the extreme – loving to be around people and never meeting a stranger – but he is fiercely attached to his parents – especially during nursery drop off time.
He is crazy about anything that rolls – cars, trains, airplanes, and balls. He waves to every single “hairplane” in the sky, and says hello to all of the trucks and buses that drive by. His birthday gift from Mima and Zip was a set of tracks which he now spends hours putting together, gliding his Thomas trains on, and then destroying. He loves to destroy.
At two years old, he is in the 95% for height and off the charts for weight. Most people think he’s at least 3, including me who couldn’t believe on his birthday that he was only turning two. Even his clothes are for 3 year olds. He can recognize every letter of the alphabet, can count to 20, and is starting to say even 4 word sentences. He’s got 3 children’s catechisms down, sleeps in a big boy bed, and will sit on the potty for about 20 minutes, only to do his business as soon as the diaper is securely back around his bum.
He’s the best big brother a “Gaba” could ask for. He brings her toys to play with, let’s us know when she is crying, and oh so gently pats her on the head. He even ensures that she has her pacifier in her mouth – whether she wants it or not. What he will not do is throw away her diapers. He is completely grossed out by those. So are we, buddy. So are we.
He’s our littler “Papsters,” “Papi,” “Bubba,” “Bubba-miah,” and”J-nasty,” but he calls himself, “Jer-mia.”
Happy Birthday, Jer-mia. We love you so much and are so proud to be your parents.
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