Today my Baby is two years old. As I grabbed her from her crib this morning, I said, “Happy birthday, Zoey! You’re two!” “No. I not,” she said. In the same, matter-of-fact tone I might have said it when turning 30. Cheerful denial. I said, “Yes, actually, you are.” And she replied, “How?”
But she is two. I think the most surprising thing about our little family is that I somehow didn’t expect her sisters to love her so much. I assumed she’d be fun for a while, and then the novelty would wear off. But in reality, hardly a day goes by where one of the older two doesn’t say, “Mom. Zoey’s just SO CUTE.” They love to make her laugh, and they love to teach her new things. They help watch her and take care of her. They want me to bring her to their classes. They love to show her off. If I could just get them to change dirty diapers, I’d be set.
Our Zoey is learning to be funny. She’s started rolling her eyes back in her head because it cracks us all up. She does an enthusiastic version of pattycake. This week she started “Look at me!” and “Come on, Mama!” She loves Sesame Street, Blues Clues, & Super Why. She can recognize her letters. She counts to 12. She says “thank you,” “you’re welcome,” and “bless you.” She has the best giggle. She can throw an epic fit.
The last two years have gone by incredibly quickly. She was a tiny little blob who fell asleep in a bassinet next to me while I worked. Now she’s a crazy kid running all over the house in somebody else’s shoes, singing the Blue’s Clues song and grabbing cereal out of the cupboard. I can’t imagine our family without her.
I think we’ll keep her. Happy birthday, baby girl.