You're turning two tomorrow and I'm already forgetting things. I'm forgetting how big you were when you were six months old. I can't remember when exactly it was that you first said "mama" or "dada." I can't for the life of me remember when it was that you got so big.
It's true what they say: the days are long, but the years are short. Having a child has been the most life-altering experience of my life. More than getting my first job or getting married. More than owning a home or graduating college. And I won't lie to you, it's been hard. I miss having free time and not worrying that the house isn't toddler-proofed.
But even with the chronic sleep deprivation, it has been so wonderful. You are amazing and so so sweet. And now, you're not a baby anymore. You're a little boy. You climb on everything. You sing songs. The first time we heard you sing we stopped and just listened to you. You get shy when you realize someone is listening, but I think, also proud. You like that we stop to listen. Your favorites to sing are Wheels on the Bus, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, and your ABCs. You've recently discovered Elmo, so we already have half a dozen Elmo books ready to read at any given moment. If your current infatuation is any indication, I have a feeling Elmo will a prominent figure in your childhood.
I can't believe another year with you has passed. It feels like I was just coming home with a brand new squirmy baby, unsure of what I was doing. I wish so many things for your future. I want you to be happy. To be kind. To remember that you are luckier than most, and to pay it forward. I hope you never let go of your persistence, even if it does sometimes make parenting harder, because it's so important to shoot for the moon and never ever give up.
Happy birthday baby boy.
Love you bunches,