The Best Thing You've Ever Done For Me

I am one of those people who used to think that I knew everything. Not any more. But the memory is still vivid. I knew everything to the biggest fault I can imagine. You all might remember. Flying woks, kicking loved ones out on the curb, horrific words slung, anger, names, and endless debates. I knew it all.

I also knew it all to my benefit, whereby I climbed the professional ranks for nothing more than to just say I knew more. Money comes with, but knowing more is just more valuable.

Right. Well, two years ago I came to the full realization that I don't know shit. After my endless late night debates to find meaning in the world, it took a small weakling, little, frail baby to shut my ass up. It took someone who doesn't speak my language. Doesn't sing my songs. Doesn't know my history. It makes me twitch with this weird feeling. I get tingles. I have to touch my arms to make the tingle stop. It's weird.

He turned two a few days ago. He's sick, like usual these days. That didn't help things at all, but he definitely did not care that it was his birthday. He thought the gifts were nice, but they took too long to open so he lost interest. He had no appetite for days before, so a little finger in the cake for some icing was seen as a major victory. He was happy to see grandma, but ultimately annoyed with it all. There was too much noise, too much commotion. And all he wanted to do was lay down on the couch, with mommy telling him he will feel better soon.

We should have known. We kind of do know that he's too young to really take an adult-like interest in a lot of people, noise, and new things. But we get a cake and balloons, some wine, lots of adults, and call it a party. It's really for us. We know. He knows.

However, this really marks the day for me when all that ends. This year will be one of amazing growth and, please, I hope, I NEED, major improvement in the area of communication. Because really, after an undergrad degree in English and a masters degree in Journalism, if you can't communicate with a two year old, you feel very defeated.

It's getting better. We do silly "knock knock" jokes, and 'Elmo' is always the punch line. He can say "up" and "hello" and "goodbye", but those words all have multiple meanings in his world. For example, "bye" means both goodbye, and also "my juice is gone". He thinks he is repeating everything we say but it always comes out as "Y. B."

If you can tell me what Y.B. means, I'll pay you for all your wisdom.

This day got here fast. I was thinking about just how fast we went from a blank canvas, to who the hell taught our kid to fuck with us by saying Y.B. for every god damned thing.

Me: So, he's two now.

Mr Grass: I don't know how we did it.

Me: I don't know either.

That's the extent of my wisdom lately. I don't know shit anymore. I used to know it all but now all I know is trying to get a two year old to eat and sleep is a major triumph. And they don't teach you that in college. Or grad school. Or any other fucking class I ever took.

I have done a lot of soul searching in the last couple years. I know I was a snotty little know it all. I still can be sometimes. But my life changed dramatically and for the better two years ago, and I mean that in a totally selfish way. I have been put in my place. And helping me take my life less seriously was by far the best thing he has ever done for me.

And Mr Grass, you should know that we did it with love and dedication. We'll do it again for two more years and years and years after that. I love you babe. Thank you.