Roan at 3

Dear Roan,

You love trains and chocolate and books and words that rhyme. You recently went through a clingy phase, but for the most part you are very independent, and will play alone for long stretches, lost in your own world. You are still a good eater, when I can get you to pay attention to food, but many times I have to feed you myself while you check the fire truck's engine or change your cars' tires.

You had, for a month or two, a curious habit of talking out of the side of your mouth that I'm pretty sure you picked up from watching clips of the movie Cars.

When someone does something you don't like, such as push you or take your toy or stand on a train track that only you can see you say, very loudly, "I don't like it, I don't like it!" You don't like to rough house. You like to get up in your friends' faces and make loud train noises, or roar, or whip trucks by people's heads. Sometimes it's hard for me to punish you, because mostly you are very well behaved. When you act like a jerk it's usually because you are strung out and tired and on the verge of tears. You have such a good heart.

You love to be silly and laugh. It's fun to spend time with you. Here are some snapshot moments from this week:

Me and you soaking in our post swim lesson bubble bath, me blowing bubbles all over, you laughing like a maniac, your hair speckled with white foam. You running in tight circles around the kitchen while I play a lively version of Wagon Wheel on the guitar. Me playing with your toes while we make up silly rhymes.

You are very calm and focused. Other moms like their boys to have play dates with you, in hopes that your ability to self entertain for long stretches will rub off. And it works if there are just two of you, most of the time. Insert a third boy and the two of them run around like crazy people while you play alone with play dough or whatever.

I think I was like this as a child, a bit indifferent to what other kids were doing, and to what was going on around me in general. I've never been completely comfortable in big groups, and though I grew up playing team sports I always felt a little awkward with the large scale social interaction that came with it. I want so badly for everything to be effortless for you, especially those things that were hard for me. So I love to see you run wild with your friends, hopped up on communal energy, going along with the group for the sheer joy of being part of something. More often than not you opt out of this kind of group play, and I worry that you've inherited my own awkwardness.

I think as parents we tend to focus on the parts of our children that most strongly reflect or react against our own identities. When I talk to your Daddy about this, he zeroes in on how stubborn you are (you once held a grudge against him for 2 hours, fell asleep for a 2 hour nap, and woke up still mad at him), and how gentle you are. He also talks about how mechanically inclined you seem to be, or at least you are very interested in the way things work. Daddy says you don't get this from him, and then reminds me of a time when we were first dating and he came to my apartment to find that I'd completely dismantled an old TV I'd found on the street.

I wonder, will you ever want all this information? Is it even accurate? Truly there is no such thing as objectivity, especially not for parents.

I write this down because for better or worse, I want you to have a record of who you were. Especially who you were before you become self aware enough to start changing yourself into the person you want to be, or whoever you think you ought to be. This is who we think you are right now, on the cusp of becoming a big brother.

You during the Thanksgiving holiday, when our backyard was full of brilliant yellow leaves.