Today is your birthday mister and you are TWO. And boy are you two. You march around this house like you own the place. Which you do. You own it. You own us. You are our benign dictator and we are but your humble servants. And we are happy to serve you because you are the constant source of our happiness. And the occasional source of our aggravation. For instance, just the other day day you stood next to me crying to be picked up for half an hour while I did the dishes so I had no choice but to pour water on your head. But once I wiped you up and stopped laughing at you we sat together on the stairs and had yoghurt and peace was restored in your kingdom.
It's been a pretty awesome year, wouldn't you agree? I mean, you learned to walk for starters. Not bad. Your nose ran for maybe nine out of the last twelve months so that's pretty amazing. You started a very charming morning routine with the help of you brother and sister who alternate taking you out of your crib so that you can walk into our room, hand me my glasses and my iPhone and then ask for cheerios. For someone who only in the last month started saying words, you are a pretty savvy communicator.
Your brother and sister continue to provide the bulk of your education since me and Aba are too exhausted. You've learned to be exceptionally affectionate from your sister and we now rely on your neck hugs and your birdie kisses. It's like crack for us. And you have followed in your brother's footsteps by continually shoving pirate coins into the CD slot of our car. I always value a good family tradition. Thankfully your terrible two-ness is mostly just amusing for us. Maybe because you are our third and we just don't care or maybe because we know you are the last to go through it so we're feeling nostalgic. Or maybe because it just doesn't matter if you smear humus in your hair every night because that might be the only product that works on your Jew fro. Whatever the reason, we sure do love your funny ways. Like how you pump your arm when you're in a hurry. Or how you giggle when I throw your stinky diapers out the window by your changing table and onto our front porch. How you then go downstairs and outside to retrieve the stinky diaper all the while repeating poo poo bye bye. How you can spend hours playing in your sandbox. How you run to greet your Saba and Savta. How you kiss the computer screen when you skype with Grandma. How you say EOW every time you see a cat. How you pinch your fingers together like you're snapping when you want to play music on my phone. And how you always play Matisyahu. Motek, you can DJ this party anytime.
Everyday I look at your smiling head and I am grateful that you happened. We could have certainly thrown in the towel after the first two. We had our boy and our girl. The turmoil of early parenthood was finally settling down. But I knew someone was missing. I knew there was a big-eyed, curly-headed, toothy-faced gremlin just waiting to join us. That someone was you, Chicken. So you go be two as long as you need to be. You're really great at it.
Happy Birthday Sunshine.
PS. This song is for you and me.
Matisyahu | - Breath Easy
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