The Generic Muppet Baby Version Of Yourself

February 20, 2013 at 11:32 pm , by 

2 years, 3 months.

Dear Jack,

As I look at this recent picture of you at The Good Cup coffee shop, I see a boy who is serious about his life ambitions.

If nothing else, I see a boy who is trying not to act too happy for the fact his parents are actually letting him consume a whole cup of whipped cream while they enjoy their coffee.

You look like a human being. I know that should technically be an understatement, but hopefully it makes slightly more sense when I show you older pictures of yourself.

The best way I can describe it is that you used to be the generic Muppet Baby version of your current self.

Your personality, your will, and your appearance were all much more basic back then.

And by back then, I’m especially referring to you before you were a year old. For example, I found this picture of our family from July 2011, at Little River Falls in Alabama.

Son, I’ve always adored you. I’ve always seen you as the most beautiful boy in the world.

However, when I see this picture, I think of the episode of The Family Guy where Peter Griffin carelessly uses his final wish from a genie to avoid being punched in the face:

“I wish I had no bones!”

At the time, you seemed as animated and detailed as you are now: You weren’t, though.

Maybe that’s something I’ve officially learned here recently; that in present tense, whatever age you happen to be, I will think you more progressed than you are.

In other words, a year from now when you’re 3 years old, I will look back at the picture of you above, at the coffee shop, and think, “What a Muppet Baby you were!”

Sure, alive is alive. But you come to life even more each day. You become more human.

It’s almost even freaky now that you and I have mostly legitimate conversations every day. You definitelyknow your first and last name now. You’re becoming a human citizen.

You really do have life ambitions. You shared one of them with me today:

“I drive an orange Jeep. I go to the parking lot. I wear my seat belt. I eat my crackers.”

As hilarious as it is for me to picture the 2 year-old version of you safely driving an orange Jeep to a parking lot to eat crackers, years from now that could be a reality.

I have to remember though, you’re technically the Muppet Baby version of your 16 year-old self.

 

Love,

Daddy

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