Here are the stats: you weigh 23 lbs, 11 oz, and are 32.5 inches tall. You have seen 730 days and nights. Your eyes are green like mine, and your hair is light brown like Daddy’s and very straight.
You are certain in your likes and dislikes. You have appropriated the green Red Sox hat and blue shark hat. You also wear only blue or green pjs.
You climb really well: ladders, stairs without holding a railing or hand. In the morning, before you climb into your own high chair and put your own bib and tray on, you run to hug me in the kitchen, and your smile as you greet me is the sweetest I have ever seen.
Your favorite pastime is running laps, either with a car (inside) or with your shopping cart (outside). Grampy says you go everywhere at 90 mph. You run up hills and down, much like the Grand Old Duke of York’s soldiers in the Mother Goose book you love so much. You slide down slides with joyful abandon.
You are a fantastic helper. You bring your siblings their milk without prompting (sometimes when they don’t even want it). When we ask you to get something for us, you do willingly. Okay, not 100%, but your percentage is really good for being two.
I admire your kind-heartedness and sensitivity to others. Whenever you see something “fall down”–even if it’s inanimate–you give it a hug, pat it, and say, “Iss okay.” You love waving to bus drivers, train conductors, truck drivers. Maybe it is this sensitivity that makes it hard for you to go to sleep most nights; we think you are maybe unsure of where we are or scared of being left in your crib. We try to reassure you as best we can.
If Theresa or Jamie wants the toy you have, you sometimes get upset: “Jamie take it from you” (Jamie tried to take it from me). We are teaching you to say, “I don’t like that,” to feel empowered to handle conflict on your own. Usually, though, Theresa gets upset because she wants the toy you have, and you offer: “How ’bout…dis?” and give her a different toy you think she’ll like. You even give her back the things we took away from her because she threw them. You often cut your turn short to placate your sibling.
You are smart about knowing your options. The day we were stopped outside the library because I forgot it was closed, you looked across the street and said, “How ’bout playground instead?” And honest: “Where is your Munny?” “I don’t know…”
You like being unique. You want the blue chair, the middle seat, to ride in the Ergo–anything that only one person can do.
You recognize kindness. When you say you’re all done, and we ask you who you want to give your leftover food to, you inevitably say, “Audrey. That’s so nice,” as you shovel the last pieces of egg into your mouth.
You are so much your own person. You observe new situations carefully, with what we call the “Audrey stare”: a deadpan expression, eyes intently taking in all information from under somewhat lowered eyebrows. You have mastered the phrase, “No, I don’t have to” and sometimes add “anymore” to the end. You are brave and curious and love construction equipment and doggie kisses.
I love you more than you can know.