To my beautiful daughter,

You turned two years old … well … ahem … about a month ago (cough , cough). Sorry about that. I’ve had a lot on my plate, and frankly, I like to include nice pictures of you in these updates, and that is getting harder and harder to do (no thanks to your habit of fleeing every time you see the camera).

The other night we watched movies from when you were 3 months old. I am still trying to reconcile the fact that the running, jumping, hanging, climbing, swinging, compassionate, loving, practically-talking-in-full-sentences toddler that I live with is one and the same as that adorable little baby who cooed and squawked and tried with every fiber of her being to wrap her tiny fingers around a ring and navigate it to her mouth. You were pretty fascinated by the whole affair too.

Your grasp of the English language has revealed a whole new side of you, in addition to providing a constant source of amusement. When a simple “No!” isn’t getting your point across (as it often doesn’t with your father, who takes great delight in teasing you), you follow it with “Nope!-ope!-ope!-ope!” When you accomplish something, you proudly exclaim “Did it!” or “There you go,” and when you are intrigued or entranced by something you say “Look at tha-at” with a beautiful, lilting sing-song in your voice. When your frustration with a toy reaches a boiling point, you screech “Do it! Do it! Do it!” at the top of your lungs, except “Do” is said more as “Dewww”, which always brings a smile to my face. When you leave a room you wave and say “Bye-bye, see you later, be right back.” I tend to say “thank you” when you hand me things, so now you say “thank you” when you hand me things. Close enough.

You’re still confused by a few things – primarily the difference between “me” and “you.” When I need to go to a different part of the house, I’ve gotten into the habit of saying “Do you want to come with me?” But it still took me a second to figure out what you meant when you howled “Come with me!!!!” from your high chair as I left the room the other day. When I put you to bed I usually massage you for a few minutes, so I ask “Do you want me to rub you?” and now, without fail, you command “Rub you!” And trying to clear this up takes us to “Who’s on first” territory every time. “No M, do you want to come with me?” Stops and scratches head. “I mean, you need to say ‘Come with you,’ okay?” I pause while mentally reviewing the sentence for accuracy. “And if you want me to rub you, you need to say ‘Rub me,’ got it?” We look at each other in confusion, and then get on with our day. You’ll get it eventually.

Your memory simply astounds me. Your father took you for a walk the other day, and as you strolled past the house a few doors down, you said “Water all gone.” He didn’t know what you meant until he remembered that a week or two before their sprinkler had been running when you walked by. You learn new words and phrases like no tomorrow. Your father took great delight in teaching you to say, “I demand it,” the other day, and I just about peed my pants laughing when I heard you muttering it under your breath while playing yesterday.

You love your father’s mom and dad so much, which absolutely thrills me. His mom is Swedish, so we call her Farmor, and his dad is Dutch, so we call him Opa. When I ask “Guess who’s coming over today?” you practically explode into the air and squeal “OPA AND FARMOR!!!!” Your Farmor dotes on you like no other, and it makes my heart melt to watch the two of you together. If I try to get into whatever it is you’re doing together, you give me a stiff arm. Sometimes I think you like her better than me, but then I remember that you refuse to go to bed at night for anyone but me, crying, “mama, mama, mama, mama,” over and over until I am summoned home to sit and rock with you, after which you are finally willing to fall asleep (after grousing for a few minutes first, of course). I can’t say I’m exactly thrilled with this habit, but at least it serves to make me feel indispensable.

You latched on to a friend’s doll a while back, so I bought you a suitable replacement. I guess I was saying things like, “Where’s your new doll?” all the time, because now her name is “New Doll.” You are doing a lot of imaginative play, feeding your stuffed animals, nursing New Doll, nursing from New Doll, washing her hands, and carting her everywhere in the little stroller you got for your birthday. My god do you love that stroller – almost as much as you love going for walks in your own stroller. One would never know that you were an AP baby who was almost constantly worn in one kind of carrier or another for the first 9 months of your life.

Your Farmor and Opa saved many of your father’s toys from when he was little, and he recently dragged out all of his Little People and their town, airplane and camper. I discouraged him, saying you were far too young, but I was wrong – you love the Little People. You will sit for the longest time, carefully arranging little chairs around little tables, and trying to set the little people into place. But your favorite thing by far is to wear them on your fingers. Perhaps not what the designers had in mind, but hey … imaginative play, right?

You have turned into a downright monkey, tackling all of the big kid equipment at the playground. You love to stand at the openings of the structures that are designed so someone can climb up or down on some type of ladder, pole, monkey bars, etc. But you are not content to just stand and gaze, oh no. Your little hands grip the vertical bars on each side, and with a joyful “Wheeeee!” you lift your feet and swing out into empty space, making my heart flip-flop and the hands of any nearby parents rise involuntarily to catch you. You have only fallen once, and it was a fairly controlled fall (I think you were mostly hurt when my camera bonked you on the head as I rushed to catch you), but it scared me enough that I now follow you faithfully up onto the structure so I can stand behind you with my hands an inch beneath your armpits (invisibly of course, because any obvious attempt to spot you is instantly disdained). I prefer this method to standing below you, because you move from opening to opening so quickly, I often can’t get around fast enough if I’m on the ground. This leads to another problem, however. Your next favorite thing to do is go down a slide and then head straight for some ridiculously huge climbing contraption, while I’m stranded up on the structure, searching frantically for a way to get down with at least some of my dignity still intact. Let’s just say that going to the playground is always a workout for both of us.

You started doing somersaults last night. You are very proud of this. You have yet to learn that it’s always best to first examine the terrain your ass will be landing on, though.

With the help of both sets of grandparents, we got you a Learning Tower for your birthday. You did not immediately understand the whole new world this opened up to you – the kitchen counter. But you’re onto it now, and love to take your meals there, in addition to “helping” me cook. I was making a marinade the other night, so you helped me squeeze the lemons (you ate them), and measure the lemon juice, olive oil and soy sauce. Then you started eating it. I added freshly crushed garlic, and you picked it out and ate it. Then I added a teaspoon of powdered ginger. Before I could mix it in, you grabbed a pinch and shoved it into your mouth. You stood stock still for a moment as an alarmed look came over your face, then you raised your lips to me and urgently said “Kiss! Kiss!” I gave you a kiss, and then a drink of water. After which you tried to pick up the bowl and drink the marinade. Thankfully your father arrived home right as I needed to add honey (have I mentioned that you haven’t yet been exposed to sweets?), so we did a surreptitious switch, replacing the “real” marinade with another bowl with small amounts of lemon juice, olive oil and soy sauce. Which you also tried to drink. Sometimes your eating habits drive me nuts (mostly the fact that you run hot and cold on things, so I never know what to give you), but how can I not be thrilled with your sense of adventure and fearlessness when it comes to food? Even when it means you pick up a mug of hot coffee when we’re not looking and take a swig.

My dear daughter, it’s easy to list all the funny and endearing things you do, but in the end, I really don’t know what to say about you … to you. I don’t know how to describe who you are with the inadequate tools at my disposal – pictures and words. They don’t even come close to capturing your vibrant spirit, magical laugh, and the way you sometimes just stand in a moment and watch every single thing around you with absolute concentration, hardly moving your body, oblivious to whatever is in your hands, utterly entranced by the spectacle of life. Other times you fling yourself in headlong, taken up by the thrumming energy as you run and laugh and play with complete abandon.

Not a day goes by that I don’t stand in complete awe of you; of how you’re growing and changing and learning. But more than that, it’s really just who you are. You are a happy and joyful child who still hates going to bed, but other than that, I simply can’t complain. You are incredibly compassionate and loving, clamoring to hold and kiss the new babies that have recently cropped up in our life, and quite simply far exceeding any expectations for empathy I would have for a two year old. You accidentally hit me in the face with a toy the other day, and when I yelped in pain your face was so stricken with remorse I found myself comforting you, even as I held my hand over the throbbing lump forming on my head.

I also love that you trust me, and know that I will keep my word. And I will, my sweet girl, I always will. I want that trust and faith to grow, so I nurture it with every word I speak. There are moments when it’s tempting to lie to buy a moment’s peace, but I’ve promised myself – and you – that I won’t do it. I want you to know that I’ll always mean what I say, because in the end that trust is worth so much. And it even helps with the daily minutiae of our life – we’ve bypassed countless tantrums because you believe me when I say you’ll get what you want, even if it isn’t at that exact moment.

I think it is this trust that allows you to give yourself so joyfully and selflessly to the world. Sure there are times when you’re mad because you can’t have someone else’s toy, but more often than not, you’re content to hand it over or swap it for something new. The other day, you and your friend were passing dolls back and forth, and no one was happy – you wanted her doll and she wanted whatever doll wasn’t in her hands – and in the end, you were both fussing and kicking in your strollers as we walked. There was no solution to satisfy all parties, so in an effort to soothe you, I handed you a pacifier, which you promptly stuck in your mouth. Your friend continued to whine and complain, and do you know what you did, my beautiful, angel child? You leaned across the small gap that separated you, and handed her the pacifier. That was one of those moments of awe – that you are able to see outside yourself, see your friend’s unhappiness, and try to help her. At times like those, I am so overwhelmed by your sweet, gentle nature, I want to gather you in my arms and hold you close to my heart and soak you in. If you would only let me (yes, despite being sweet and gentle, you are still the anti-cuddle toddler).

When I put you down for your nap on your birthday, I stroked your back and said “Happy Birthday” for the umpteenth time. You replied “Happy Birth” and suddenly my throat caught and tears welled in my eyes as I remembered just how unhappy your birth likely was for you. I had already thought of the long and difficult labor we shared together, how your head was tipped and you were probably frightened and in pain, how we were separated and you were suctioned and the trauma it caused. And I thought also of all the work I’ve done in CST with my own birth; that I still carry remnants of it with me to this very day, and the sadness – and yes, guilt and regret – I feel when I think of what you must carry with you still. But when you said “Happy Birth” I remembered too the way I have been re-making my birth, reimagining it the way I want it to be, and how this helps my body, mind and spirit let go and move forward … heal. And as the tears slid down my cheeks I wished with all my heart that you will be able to do the same … to take your birth and make it your own, to dream a happy birth for yourself. You deserve nothing less my beautiful child, and how I wish I could do it for you; but it is out of my hands now. That is your journey, although I will always be with you, ready to stand at your side when you need me.

I feel so lucky to have you in my life. Thank you for choosing me. Happy Birthday my beautiful daughter … and Happy Birth.

Love,
Mama

(To get the last picture to fit on the page, I had to shrink it so much that her eyes look a little weird. That’s not how it really looks … you can see a bigger version here.)