This River Is Wild

On Sunday, Sam turns two. Two! It seems both impossible to have been so long, and yet it seems like forever. She’s TWO. My baby isn’t a baby anymore — she’s a little person, with definite opinions and thoughts and … well, she was this:

I can’t even believe it, honestly. In retrospect, she wasn’t very exciting. Well, until she started screaming, and then things got VERY exciting, but not in a good way, because it was more like, WHEN WILL SHE STOP? PLEASE HELP US! ANYONE! ANYONE! MAYDAY!

And then there was this, and I didn’t think it could get any better, I really didn’t. She was so much fun.

She didn’t sleep through the night until she was more than 14 months old. Fourteen months! That’s crazytown. And yet, here we are.

She loves the mail — pretend mail, real mail, any kind of mail; Yo Gabba Gabba, cats (stuffed or real), playing in her kitchen and pretending to do whatever I do, which includes taping maxi pads to her nethers and peeing on ovulation sticks. She talks about her friends every minute that she’s not with them, and I feel so lucky that she has them, and that I have their moms.

At the moment, she’s also entering a really unfortunate Dora and Diego phase. Animals are her best friends — there is no kind of animal that doesn’t tickle her fancy. She can muster a remarkable amount of enthusiasm over an earthworm, for God’s sake. Sunny, as one would expect, is the best thing that ever happened to her, and she’s the first thing she asks for when she wakes up. “Sunny? Sunny! SUNNY!” in a voice so desperate that Sunny has no choice but to appear and endure a sloppy array of kisses and hugs. I have never loved Sunny more than seeing her be so patient with Sam, and actually get excited about hanging out with her human, um, sister. (SHUT UP.)

She sleeps like a champion now, usually until at least 8 a.m., and when she gets up any earlier, I am so shocked, it’s as if someone shot a gun over my head. She goes to bed with no fewer than 25 stuffed “buddies,” which means we have to travel with an ungodly amount of them, lest she feel that her temporary digs are anything but conducive to a full night’s sleep. This is what happens when you breed a kid who doesn’t sleep — you end up scarred for life. I’ll be packing those buddies when she goes to college, asking her if she has her Mr. Mouse and kitty, and what about Brobee? DO YOU HAVE BROBEE?

I can honestly say that I have never been so happy as I have the last two years. I loved my life before her — I did — but I love it more now that she’s here. She’s beautiful and funny and smart and I feel ridiculously, stupidly honored to be her mama, and to get to spend every day with her.

Oh, my girl. I love you so. Happy, happy (early) birthday.

(The third photo is courtesy of one of my besties — and the mom of one of Sam’s besties — Megan, owner of MeganJane Photography, and a general photography genius. Hire her, if you’re in the Boston area. If she can take a good picture of my kid poking her in the face, imagine what she can do under different circumstances?)

*The Killers

30 comments March 3rd, 2011