Despite the thousands of words I've written about my son in his 2 years, my page is empty.
When he first arrived I was pretty speechless. Then as time went on, choosing the perfect words -- and only a single page's worth -- became more and more daunting.
Now, as my second son's arrival inches closer, that blank page is bothering me.
So here goes nothing:
I guess I was supposed to write you this letter before you even got here, or in your first weeks of life. Somehow life got in the way, and here we are, with you getting closer to 3 every day and I'm just now getting around to it.
In a way, it's good I waited.
As much as I thought I loved you as you rolled around in my belly or when I held you the first time, I didn't yet have a clue.
With each day that passes I find room to love you just a little more.
I've had time to watch your personality unfold.
Nursing and rocking you, staring at your perfect face for hours searching for that first smile, that was all amazing. But it's been nothing compared to watching you grow into a sweet, caring and imaginative little person of your own.
Of all the things you do that make me proud, from crawling to walking and even potty training with such ease, I'm by far most proud of your heart.
When our dog Gertie let out a whine just yesterday evening, you got serious and asked her what was wrong. You are always quick to admit that every accident is your fault, even when it isn't. You always say "I'm sorry," "Thank you," and "Bless you" when anyone sneezes.
You've shown yourself to be a very sensitive little guy, and one of my biggest hopes for you is that life never gets to you enough to make you change that about yourself. Nice guys don't always finish first, but you can always be proud of who you are. Better yet, I suspect, you'll really be able to make a difference in the world because of it.
Even as young as you are, you are an individual outside of being half mine and half your father's -- it's been amazing to be a part of.
I've watched you make up your own dance moves, silly faces and in some cases even words. For instance even though you know it's called a pacifier, you still call yours your "bapo."
Watching you strum my guitar and belt out "It's fun to si-iii-iiing" is one of my biggest joys.
You like to "watch a storm roll in," or walk right by a black snake in the woods. You certainly aren't afraid to say what you are feeling or dance along to the radio wherever we are.
Keep as much of that as you can. I know the time will come when your age will force you to be more reserved, to get embarrassed, but another of my other biggest hopes for you is that this doesn't change your enthusiasm for experiencing - and enjoying - life.
No matter what, know there's nothing you can do to ever make me love you any less. You're the best thing about me. When you have kids someday, then you'll know.
· Contact Jessica Wiant at firstname.lastname@example.org