At two, she was not quite a big girl and not quite a baby. I remember the “Me Do it’s” and the Whys” and words like “Lello” (Yellow) or “Tephalone” (Telephone). I remember sweet cuddles at bedtime and little bits of cut up grapes and hot dogs so she would not choke. I remember that she ate like a little bird and she rarely got any on her. I remember realizing that I was watching her turn into a little person with her own ideas and her own little sense of humor. She was just starting to crack jokes and crack us up. I remember thinking that she was forming in front of us and being in awe of that. Her list of vocabulary words would grow consistently with her. She would sprout up and out, and then up again.. I remember thinking that I wished I had stopped growing on an up cycle and wondering if Mogo will too.
The baby is gone, there is no toddler, and she is big. The curls have all fallen out. Her face looks big. Her words are big, and she has BIG ideas. “Lello” is only uttered when she is trying to be cute. There are a lot more “Why’s” now but the answers are oh so much more complicated and “because” has never sufficed. She is still learning and growing everyday. It seems as if she grows an inch each night. I remember two, it was wonderful and terrible and exciting and exhausting. Such is parenthood.
He’d be two now if not for the whole death thing.
Judging by Mogo at two, this would be the first year that he would have noticed Christmas. Mogo would be telling him all about Santa and the Reindeer. She would remind him to behave and threaten to tell Santa on him to keep him in line and out of her things. She would have shown him just the right amount of jelly beans to put on his Gingerbread house and tell him if he was making a mess. She would have taken over and just done the damn thing for him, I am sure of it. I would have been nice to have four instead of just three.
I imagine a little version of my Old Man. His Polo shirt buttoned all the way up to his chin and little Chuck Taylor’s on his feet. I imagine those big blue eyes with the wickedly thick eyelashes looking up at me. I wonder if he would have been as smart as Mogo is or if he would be loveable but dumb as a rock (Nah, not possible). I wonder if he would have been a bit of a spaz or if he would be calm and cool. Would he have been slapstick funny or sarcastic funny like the rest of the family? Would he have been into dinosaurs, reptiles, cowboys, and Indians like his Dad? Would he be getting a pair of red cowboy boots for Christmas and singing “Rhinestone Cowboy?” (Yeah, you don’t really want to ask).
So, apparently, I have given this a little too much thought. Truth is I am not talking about Aidan here. I am not talking about the sweet boy with the extra pinky and the missing organs that I held & cried over. I am talking about a dream. His little body was not able to make it to birth let alone to two years old. The numerous problems inside that seemingly perfect body would have never allowed it. If he had been allowed to live, he would have never made it to two. Perhaps it was a kindness from the Universe that it happened the way it did. Perhaps I should be grateful. I’m not grateful though. I like the dream better and I wish I could see him at two.
