My sweet little baby,
Just like that, you are TWO YEARS old. And just like I was last year on this day, I’m a weepy emotional mess. Don’t get me wrong– I love that you’re two years old. I love that I can have conversations with you, teach you things, and go fun places with you. But I can’t help but be reminded of how quickly these years go by and how little time I have with the kid version of you.
You’re in such a hurry to grow up, too. You’re already constantly asking to put my makeup on and wear my heels. You’re obsessed with picking out your own outfits for the day. You’re always cracking people up with your sassy little personality.
I have managed to teach you some manners, though. You know when to ask for something to say, “May I please have ___.” It’s so adorable that I want to give you what you ask for every time, even if the “blank” is candy, ice cream, or a permanent marker.
You love sweets but even though I’m good at limiting them, your grandparents are not! They’re constantly spoiling you with M&M’s, juice, and other treats when I’m not looking. Oh well. We’ll be back in Virginia in a couple of weeks and they won’t have that opportunity as often. I’m really happy we’ll be living closer to them than ever, though. I really want them to be a part of your childhood.
You’ve been eating a lot more “good” food here in Texas than you did in Tanzania too, though. You love chicken and fajitas and all the fresh fruits available at the supermarket. Your favorites are strawberries and watermelon. Like your mommy, you can’t get enough peanut butter. If we give you a piece of toast with peanut butter, you’ll lick the peanut butter right off the toast and forget all about the bread. Silly girl.
There are so many funny things you do that I’m afraid I’ll forget one day. When you hear the sirens of a cop car you whisper, “Hide! Hide!” I seriously don’t know who taught you this. I suspect it was your Uncle D.J., but I can’t be sure. The stuff that comes out of your mouth never ceases to amaze me.
You’re such a smart little baby. You quickly remember the names of people and places. When we turn on your GiGi’s street, I hear your little voice from the backseat exclaim, “GiGi’s house!” When the phone rings at her house in the evenings, you say, “Mercedes is calling!,” because you know that GiGi talks to her sister Mercedes almost every night. You love counting and pointing out shapes, colors, and letters. As much as I dread the day when I send you off to school, I can’t wait to see how well I know you’ll do.
Next month you’ll be taking on the role of big sister. I know you’ll be a great one, but I’m so nervous that you’ll be upset. I never want you to feel sad or left out of anything.
Evita Pilar, you are my partner-in-crime. My tiny sidekick. My baby girl. And you always will be, for as long as you want to be. Don’t ever forget that.
Thank you for giving me the greatest gift imaginable two years ago today.