In which our heroine proves she can still kinda design a website.

Two Years of You

Sunday night as I put your sister to bed, she held up the little heart-shaped scrap of cloth I gave her the day after you were born, what she calls her “Lovey”.

“That’s two years old now,” I said.

“What?  No it isn’t,” she said.

“Yes it is.”

“But you gave it to me after he came out of you!”

“Yes.  Today is his birthday.”

She stared at me.  “Wait, what?”

“That’s what a birthday is, Zo.  It’s the day your brother came out of me.”

What?”

“Yeah, good night, sweetie.”  I kissed her head.  “Pleasant dreams!”

She was still whispering Whaaaaaaaat? as I shut the door.

And thus do we lovingly scar our children, especially our eldest.

Last night I asked you to say “love”, one of the few words you can say, and you shook your head against my shoulder.  No.

I asked you to say “mama”.  Again that gentle shake.  No.

So I pointed to the projection on the ceiling, put there by the little lit-up turtle we have in your crib, and asked you to say “moon”.

“Moooonnn,” you whispered.

How do I love you, my boy whose favorite things are trucks, tea sets, and sticking bits of sausage down his pants?

How do I love you, my unexpectedly tow-headed mercurial whirlwind, king of the smile and the side-eye, who sings along without words?

How do I love you, my bookworm who insists on plunking down and paging through The Very Hungry Caterpillar every time we change your diaper?

The question really isn’t how do I but how couldn’t I?

Like your sister, you bring light wherever you go.

You may have been born under a full moon, but you will always be my sunshine.

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