Dear J,

Oh boy. It’s 9.30pm on Friday May 10 2013 and I’m exhausted.

You gave me a mental beating at bath time today. It’s a harder and harder challenge every day. And you need your bath time every day, so I have to keep finding ways to win.

Today, I enticed you to potty time with a Spanish-English book with a 2-page spread of cars that you love more than a fish loves water. Big mistake. Because I couldn’t tear you away from the book to go for bath time. It took maybe 30 minutes of coaxing, goading, persuading until finally the only way I got you in the tub was with a sleight of hand ninja move to get you physically into the tub (which you resisted and protested), and then quickly bombarding you with specific words to stop your crying. I also convinced you that everything’s okay and you can still see your 2 pages of cars because the book is propped up on the potty next to you and rubber ducky is holding the pages open.

(By the way, you went in the potty again today (hurray!) and you were happy to note that Kimi didn’t drink it this time.)

Now I’m in the bedroom, taking a break. Mama took over to put you to bed. You said, “Good night daddy, I will see you tomorrow. I love you. Bye bye!” You were still clutching your giant book opened at the 2 pages of cars.

Oh, just before I left, Mama said the contractions are somewhat close. 20 minutes apart with some regularity. SOON. It could be tonight! That would be perfect timing. The house is in order and it’s the weekend. If she comes now, you could be at the hospital too.

And that’s why I’m here. I always have a draft of a letter to you going, with scribbled notes as I notice things I want to tell you. I want to finish this up before Julia arrives.

I was watching a championship squash game from 2 years back a few days ago. Peter Nicol vs Jonathon Power. I must’ve told you by now, Squash was my favorite sport growing up. And Nicol and Power were my heroes (along with Jahangir and Jansher). They’re older now so they titled it “The Legends of Squash” instead of “the old people of squash.”

I played it enough that there are lots of memories fused with it. When I see them make or pick up a shot, I can feel it in my hands as if my racket vibrated as the strings flexed and shot the ball to the wall. My brain misfires and I’d occasionally get a whiff of the pyrex glass walls, the wood walls, or sweat. I remember the acid in my calves and the my shoes heating up from the constant movement of squash and the friction between rubber and court.

I wandered into my past because I was remembering how much fitter I was. Because one evening, you ran all the way back from the park:

Why? Who knows. We were at the park and I said it was getting dark, and that I don’t want to stay out in the dark. You said “I don’t want to stay out in the dark too!” Then you looked around and asked “Where’s Mama and Abu?” I said Mama and Abu went back home already. And you started running! It was a continuous 15 minutes of running back home; you stopped only to hold my hand to cross the street. You ran all the way home, refusing every offer I made to carry you.

I thought… shit. If you’re already like this at 2, I better get myself in shape for when you really get active. I hate feeling weak. I ran out of breath doing something earlier because I’ve been neglecting my body for my mind, and it pissed me off. And if you can do it, I should be able too.

So I just went out for a run that night. With my Vibram Five Fingers that I love and feel smug for buying it while everyone was still making fun of shoes with toes. Yes, one day, maybe in your generation, future people will laugh at how stupid people were for abusing our feet. We’ve abused it so much that people think it’s weird to see that our feet have toes. You just have to take one look at your feet and see that it’s wedge-shaped. And you then take one look at the sole of a shoe and see that it’s peanut shaped. THEY DON’T MATCH, MORONS. Anyway, I’m happy to see that it’s gotten so popular now that even the largest shoe companies have started “minimal” lines. Don’t worry, your mom and I took care of your feet so you won’t get curved toes like we have.

Ice — it disappears. Another example of the things we take for granted. I didn’t know how to explain ice to you. I said it is water. You didn’t get it. It melts. Nope. Melting happens too slow for you to associate cause and effect. Only thing I could get you to see was: it’s cold, and it disappears.

When you noticed it disappearing, you said, “I don’t like it”. Well… yup. Physical things disappearing pretty much violates everything you know about how objects should behave. So the other thing we take for granted is, your understanding of the concept of “strange.” How would you teach a child the meaning of “strange”? I tried to tell you it was strange. Because you said “I didn’t like it” as it was disappearing. But it wasn’t really that you didn’t like it. Because you kept asking for another. It was curious.

You’re becoming a rebel now. The other day, you sat on top of the couch. Mama said get down and you said no. Mama said it was dangerous and you smiled. So I thought I had a clever solution and hopped on and said, “Mama I’m sitting on the couch too!” Mama saw what I was up to so she played along, “Daddy don’t sit on the couch!”

Then I pretended to lose my balance… WHO WHOA WHOA!!! Your eyes popped out of your head and you shouted “NOOOOOOO!”
I kept going WHOA AAA UH OH and you started yelling, “NO DADDY NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooo!”
Then I threw myself to the ground dramatically (and harmlessly of course).
You shouted AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA then jumped to mama and cried hard.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
(Your face turned red)
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
I went to tell you I was okay and you paused to hear what I had to say, but as soon as I finished my sentence you went AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA and sobbed into mama’s chest. I picked you up and put you over my shoulder. That calmed you down. I whispered to mama I hope that doesn’t give you a phobia of climbing things now. It probably wasn’t the brightest idea shocking you like that at this age.

But of course, a few minutes later, you were standing on your bike with no hands and jumping on the seat to one of your favorite songs…

Love,

Dad

P.S. Since you can ride your tricycle well now, you love showing off to our neighbor Sam. She is 4, two years older than you. You look for her when you wake up, when we get out of the car, when we go out for a walk and when we return from the park. And when you get to play with her, you act aloof and cool, but you never want to leave to go home for dinner time. One day, Sam goes in like her dad asks, but you stay in the courtyard still refusing to go home. Then Sam shouts, “Joshua what are you doing you have to go home too!” Then, finally, you came in. Life’s tough for a 2 year old.

P.P.S. Your latest upgrades: Look what you just learned how to do at the playground. It was windy the other day so we flew a kite! And here you are practicing for a future career as a wrecking ball.