A few weeks late my dearest little.
You turned two. TWO!
And cried when we sang to you.
And passed on the cake, too.
Because now it’s time to do things your way.
Because you’re two.
Our puzzle doer, our book reader, who loves to show us and tell us that you get it, that you’ve got things figured out. You ask for what you want. Your demands are most often reasonable, a banana, a book, a binkie, a blanket, and bed.
Our blonde, dimple-cheeked boy, with the adorable almost-buck-toothed grin and throaty giggle. I worry about that mischievous glint in your eye, but I don’t worry much.
Our curious boy, who tries to stump us, by suggesting random animals and items during our nightly singing of “Old MacDonald.” I never knew that Old MacDonald’s farm contained a bear, an ear and a blanket. And I do not know what sound an ear makes.
Our cuddly guy, the one most likely to climb into my lap, and cuddle into my side. Always willing to snuggle in the low light before bed. Longer legs dangle now, but your head still fits perfectly between my ear and my shoulder.
I love how you love your siblings, and how they love you. The three of you are so joyful in the mornings, when you greet each other in your room, tickled that you’re all together another day, making that laughing, glorious noise that can only be created by gaggles of small delighted children. You are gifts to one another. You are gifts to us.