I'm late with this letter, and it's probably due to an internal mechanism within my soul that seems satisfied and content with the illusion that maybe if I don't write your 2 year old letter acknowledging my sweet baby isn't, well, a baby anymore then I can keep calling you my sweet baby. Which of course you are and aren't all at the same time.
Just a year ago I couldn't quite pull your hair back into pigtails, and now it flows gently down your back and you have to constantly wipe your chubby hands against your cheek and tuck the brown-blonde strands behind your ear to keep it out of your face. But I can't bring myself to cut it. We never have and probably won't until strangers start commenting. It's so beautiful. At night when you snuggle up against me and we read stories or sing songs, I like to stroke it and feel how silky it is, and wonder why I can't have hair like that.
You are so different from your older brother. Everything's been a bit easier with you- you nap well, you eat well, you potty trained quickly and easily. This doesn't make you better, mind you- just different.
You love singing along to songs in the car- particularly Twinkle Twinkle Little Star- it's just gut-wrenching adorable when your breathy high pitched voice kind of mumbles over the less familiar words. I love it.
Like your brother, you have an affinity for drawing on, well, everything. Walls, furniture, etc. Maybe you'll be an artist? Who knows.
You love stuffed animals and your blankie, and if you have your say you'll bring four of each everywhere with you. Because of your love for animals we've finally gotten a dog, Ginger, who we adopted from the SPCA- and you love to walk up to her and give her a big fat kiss on her nose.
When you finally wake up in the morning (you're almost always the last one), you let us know you're up and Daddy likes to come get you so you can have a piggy back ride downstairs, where you eat your oats and fruit.
My absolute favorite thing you do is dance. You like to shake it, girl- and alternatively jump up and down repeatedly until a song is over. Melts my heart.
You make me so very happy. I don't believe in terrible twos. No one who had you for a daughter would, either. I think you are just magically special, and adorable and squishy and delightful. And I can't wait to see who you grow to be in this next year.