Today was your first trip to an amusement park. It was a hot, sunny, gorgeous day in July. You spent the whole prior day watching videos on the internet about it, and you were so patient on the hour-long car ride. We were impressed.
You, however, were unimpressed with it in the beginning. Storybook forest? Nah. We bypassed all the little kid stuff and went straight to a hot air balloon ride that swung us high in the air. I was a little nervous about you, because while you were a devil-may-care baby, practically throwing yourself down the stairs for your Daddy to catch you, now you are much more cautious. You like to know what's coming, and you like to be prepared. So sometimes, when something catches you too off-guard, you shut it down fast. Nope. No more of that. And once you have your mind made up, well, that's that.
So I tried to warn you that the ride went high, and that it felt even higher when you were on it. And that it would swing you out wide, and that you might feel like you were falling. That it would be ok if you didn't want to try it this year. But you got that big adult (da-dult) ride and up, up it went. It started to swoop us around. Your Daddy and I both got a little bit sick. That thing was f.a.s.t. And here was your face.
Priceless.
After a long, napless day of lazy river rides, turtle-spotting, and wandering all over the place, we ended our day in Raccoon Lagoon. We got in line for the first ride we saw, a classic car ride with a long trac. After we got to the front of the line, though, we found out the rules about Raccoon Lagoon. There, only the kids can ride the rides. And not many two-year-olds were there...mostly older kids, three and four years old, some older.
Surprise. You'd be going by yourself. I was pretty sure that would be the end of it, considering you and the way you like to be sure of things first. But you walked right out there, got into a shiny teal cruiser, and let the attendant buckle you in. You looked straight at us and then, solemnly, drove away, out onto the track. You didn't even look back.
Your Daddy and I hugged and stared. Dude, you are big. Just so very big. And tough. And brave. Once you got to the other side of the ride, you looked over and smiled. And when you were done, we could see the pride all over your face. It was all over all of our faces.
There were a few kid rides that you passed up, because they looked a little too scary. But that day, you drove your own boat, rode in bumper cars AND pushed the gas pedal AND steered AND smiled when someone bumped you (Impressive. I hate getting bumped.) and generally made us proud.
Allegra, we had the best day. A sun-shiny, ice-creamy, laughing day. Here's the memory for you to keep. We love you.
