You cannot be two already, even though every single movement of your body, each gesture, each look, those endless words tripping out of your mouth – each declares wordlessly or at high pitch that you most certainly are. I do not know of a child of this age who could be as utterly delighted to reach this special day as you seem to be. You’ve been singing “Happy Birthday” to yourself as you fall asleep each night; I find you sitting in your crib in the morning trying so desperately to manage just holding up your pointer and middle finger as a symbol of your new age. At the end of a long day full of birthday surprises (donut breakfast, garden tram rides, presents, Ted Drewes…) you declared to us all in the car “My Burt-day Comin’ SOON!” Like many things in life, perhaps the best part of any big event is the preparation for it. You were still celebrating that anticipation, even as your head was falling over in exhaustion from a day of celebration.
I had so many things left to do for your official party the following day, so I turned over the bedtime routine to visiting family members who never complain about spending time with you. But right before you went to bed I took you back. I hold you most nights before you go to sleep, and those moments are some of the sweetest ones I’ve ever known. You were so sleepy, and hardly had the energy to beg for more songs. Most nights you tease me by changing your mind mid-song for another title, you tease me when I tell you that you are “mama’s baby” and declare “my BIG” to me with your fullest, dimpled smile. But at the end of this day I hugged you tightly and said “how big, how big you are”, to which you flashed your dimples and replied “my mama’s baby”. How right you are.
Oh but how – this sweet, sweet baby of our family – how loved and treasured you are. Enjoy the big-ness of being two, and we’ll secretly devour those moments of your little-ness a bit more.
Happy Birthday, my sweet, sweet girl.