Dear Lina
Today you are 29 months old!
I think we’re supposed to stop counting in months now, but I’m not ready for that. Are you?
I am having such a delightful summer with you. We go to school together in the morning, then I pick you up after naptime. We spend the entire afternoon together every day, which I really love. Sometimes we go to the wading pool, sometimes swimming, and often we just go home to run through the sprinklers and sing songs. I’ve been playing the guitar a lot lately, and we play and sing together. Pretty soon you’ll know all the words to Hotel California!
You love to sing. You sing while you’re sitting in the car, while you’re wandering around the house, while you’re drawing. You sing on key.
You love bugs and worms. Unfortunately for them, you love them in a Lennie kind of way. I’m told that this will take care of itself over time, which seems okay.
You love garbage trucks, the alphabet, your Bea and HaHa books. You love tuna. You love tofu. You love pineapple. But more than anything, you love beef jerky.
This week you did your first poopoo in the toilet. There. It is recorded. For all to see. For all time.
You have your first chores! Mama has been waiting for this. It’s now your job to feed Lily. You also let her out to potty sometimes, with a sweet-but-bossy “Busy Busy Ngy-Ngy!” as she makes her way out the back door.
I continue to feel a deep sense of wonder when I look at you. How did I get so damn lucky? I know that other parents say they feel this way about their children but deep down I think that maybe I love you just a little bit more. Because really, look at you. With your ponytails and sweet words and huge smiles and general kick-assedness.
Thank you for being mine. Thank you for being demanding. Thank you for being ten times more social than I am. Thank you for trying again. Thank you for jumping off the last step. Thank you for understanding that somehow I can’t churn out these letters on the first of every month, but I try to. (That last one is a thanks in advance kind of thing, of course.)
I love you, monkey girl.
Kisses, Mama