February 7, 2014 February 6, 2016
Dear Lily,
Two years ago today, I took a quick picture of my bump, then drove to school and worked with my students on their first major essay on The Odyssey. At the end of the day, I popped over to the gym but cut my workout short--I was just too tired and sore. Daddy and I decided to get a bite out at the Old Brogue, then came home to eat cupcakes and watch Netflix. We'd just settled on the first episode of Third Rock from the Sun, when you announced your imminent arrival and... well, you know the rest.
In the last two years, what an amazing, incredible, empathetic, gentle, silly, smart little girl you've grown up to be. You've survived your first blizzard (where the 30 inches of snow were a mere inch less than you!) and discovered the wonders of Play-Doh. You have come to expect certain routines from your day, such as Ozzy purring on your lap while you drink your morning milk, but you've also become adept at rolling with whatever life throws your way.
We look at you so many times every day and marvel "what a big girl!" You patiently trusted us when we told you that you must wear your new CARES harness for the flight to see Granny and Granddaddy, and you exuberantly raced around Sesame Place for "A Very Furry Christmas," jubilantly greeting Elmo and bravely trying each ride we suggested.
So it should come as no surprise to us that, yes, you are now two. That you are flying through toddlerhood, not without its bad days, but with the balance weighing heavily in favor of good ones. That you are often able to communicate what you need--to tell us when you'd prefer your water in a cup or when you'd like to have snack or who you'd like to invite for a play date. That you gleefully embraced each of your friends and chosen family as they walked through the door yesterday morning to celebrate your birthday and that you happily demanded "up" from the myriad of neighbors who you call "aunt" and "uncle" without hesitation. That--when we aren't close by--you understand that your godmother and godfather love you so deeply and will care for you however and whenever they are able.
We love you so much, little Peanut. We are in awe of you--but not for the reasons most parents might assume. Yes, we're delighted when you count to ten (though your favorite number, without a doubt, is "two!") or when you sing your own made-up songs. But we are most amazed, most teary-eyed, most in love with your personality--with who you are, not what you do or how you look.
You are, without a doubt, the most empathetic little two-year-old we've ever met. Your favorite birthday present (so far!) is a doggy that came in a crate with vet supplies. From the moment you opened it, you've needed to safely tuck your new pet in your arms and carry him everywhere we go, doling out "med-sin" and making sure he's regularly fed. You treat your living pets no differently--you sense Guillie's age and lay your head gently on her stomach each morning, carefully patting her and inquiring "K, Guillie? K?" When sadness overwhelmed me the night I learned of the loss of my beloved childhood horse, Rocky, and Daddy told you I had a boo-boo on my heart, you insisted on sitting in my lap, arms tight around my neck, asking "K, Mommy? K?" Just yesterday, when you pushed one of your favorite friends in a fit of toddler frustration, you immediately observed her tears, bent your head to say "Sorry," then gave her a hug. Your deep concern for others--for four-legged or two-legged or stuffed or swimming friends--is what astonishes us and makes us wonder how we ever got chosen as your mommy and daddy.
For the first time last week, as you sat on my lap after dinner and patiently waited for Daddy to bring your peaches, you turned your little round face to mine and exclaimed "Love you!" You've said it before but never been the one to initiate. Daddy stopped in his peach preparation and poked his head through the window from the kitchen to find me, tears ready to start, staring back at you in wonder.
Yes, sweet pea--always yes. Love you, too.
Love,
Mommy
