Two is such a simple concept. Two index finger stuck side by side, just under the pouting bow of a lower lip. Two parents hovering over the edge of a bathtub to watch one of those miniature washcloths slowly expand in the water (an anticlimatic event to an adult mind, I must confess). Two snowflakes grabbed with a hand motion reminiscent of a decent right jab. Two oatmeal raisin cookies, because one was just not enough.
But two YEARS? When has this happened?
What comes next? Twelve?
Whether simple or mind blowing, somehow the space of two years seems just right. It’s just enough time to be filled to the brim with good memories (dancing in waves, laughing about alligators, snuggling with Thumkin, running from door to dresser, feeding doll babies, slurping hot chocolate, demanding to hear the broccoli story for the umpteenth time) and hard memories (sixteen months of interrupted sleep, mild fevers that spike parental concern sky-high, stomach flus, career changes, worry over naps, worry over eating, worry over weight, worry over language acquisition, worry over too much worry, did I mention sleepless nights?).
I wouldn’t change a single day, good or hard.
Dear, dear, dear Little Friend, you have been the sun to our family’s solar system these past two years. Today we celebrate the day that eclipses all others in our lives: your birth.
Happy Second Birthday, Little Friend.