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My dear Bohemian baby...

 

Exactly two years and two days ago, I pushed you into this world, stared into your eyes and wondered how your dad and I could have possibly made something so perfect. Today, you and your brother are the light of our lives. While you have your moments of those pesky "Terrible Twos," you still emanate pure joy. You love life. You shrug off the little stuff so quickly that I actually am jealous of you. You are the definition and embodiment of optimism, my love, and I pray you hold on tight to that part of who you are.

 

You have people amazed at how much you can talk. It. Is. Non. Stop. Sometimes I maybe even ask you to stop because, well, I have never heard another human talk as much (outside of grandma, of course). You still climb everything in sight and try your very hardest to keep up with your brother. The bottom line is, most of your days consist of talking, talking, talking, and climbing, climbing, climbing. Your Tia Lisa has suggested that she foresees your climbing really big mountains and then writing really big books all about your journeys. I am starting to think she might be on to something. Just please remember to call your mom, okay?

 

You love your trucks, your trains, digging in the dirt, playing in the pool, kicking the ball, and making "points," which is how you refer to basketball.You love "Backyardigans" and "Curious George," and you literally eat anything. Any little thing. You love the park and the river and animals of all kinds and you shake your booty/flap your elbow during our at-home dance parties. And you sing. Just like your brother, you sing. "ABCs," "Hello Everybody," and "A Ram Sam Sam" are your favorites.

 

Oh, and you tell stories. Big, big stories. Just a couple weeks ago, I went to get you out of your crib in the morning and you looked at me and said, "My leg hurts. Nico hit me." I had to inform you that you hadn't seen your brother in 12 hours, but you insisted you were telling the truth by repeating yourself over and over again. And just this morning - at 5:30 a.m. to be exact - you sat at the end of the bed, playing with Ana's stuffed animals while I was desperately trying to model for you what sleeping looks like, when I heard you say, "Hey, ephelant! Don't hit me! "Ephelant" I know I am biased, but I have never heard a voice so precious in my entire life - even at 5:30 in the morning.

 

You are light, my love. You know no stranger, you are so confident in who you are and what you can do (which sometimes causes me to hyperventilate), and you never, ever give up. I could kiss those cheeks for days on end, and lucky for me, right now you let me. We love you, McGoo, bigger than all the mountains and deeper than all the seas. Never, ever forget how mighty you are.

 

Love,

 

Your mama