Dear Clio,
You are two years old today. It amazes me how grown up you can be at just two: how communicative, opinionated, loving, and funny. Today was quite a day. We went to pick up our vegetables at the playground, and Daddy took you on the swings. You sat in his lap on the big-kid swings and shouted "Mommy, look at me!" so the entire neighborhood could hear you. Daddy took you to the Y for Gym and Swim; you loved it, but by the end of the hour you were a "hot mess," and when I came to pick you up I could hear you wailing in the locker room. I hear you're the best swimmer in the class though, even though you're the youngest: with a floatie on your back, you can swim all the way across the pool, "by all yourself." You are determined, that's for sure. You swam across that pool again and again to get to the steps, because you wanted to climb up and down them. You're determined not to wear pants these days, and sometimes you'll pretend to have a poopy diaper, just to get stripped down. When you don't want to go to bed, your new trick is to ask for milk or water after the stories have been read, the songs sung- the first few times, I almost fell for it, concerned as I was that you could get dehydrated in this heat. When you want to hear a book again, you plead "just one more times," and when you want more of a snack but someone has told you no, you'll reduce your request to "just a tiny little bit?" These tactics may be manipulative, but they are charming, and the often work. You are more clever every day.
You are also more and more adventurous. We've been going to the playground every day after day care, and you are popular with the bigger kids. You wave and say hello to everyone, and really, who could resist that? You tip your head way over to the side when you so it, and your voice is very sweet- clear and high. There are two third graders at the playground, Jessica and Rajri, who try to take care of you (they tell me that I should not let you suck your thumb because the playground is dirty; that you are two small for the ladders), but really you just want to do what they do, and so you can be found swinging from the bar above the slide or climbing right up, no matter how slippery its silver surface. You also try to emulate Marco and Isabella from day care. You love to chase Marco around the sidewalk, and you an Isabella have quite a time screaming together (I'm not sure who picked it up from whom.)
There's a downside to this screaming, too. You are two in every sense, and lately that also means stubborn and occasionally tantrum-prone. You can't decide what you want (milk or water, to wash your hands or not, to get in or out of your high chair; you want to call people on the phone but not talk when they pick up); sometimes I think it's not about the thing, you just want to get what you want, even if you yourself can't quite keep track of what that is. It's confusing, navigating this world and all its various boundaries, isn't it?
You can also be impatient, or quick to judge. At the zoo yesterday, you quickly declared "No fishies," but then went on to spend much of your time circling back to the aquarium. Today, we gave you a scooter for your birthday (you always pick them up at the playground); you got on it once and said "I can't do it." You put a second foot on and fell over, and cried. I think you would eventually have loved it, but this time we gave in and got you a bike instead. You're warming up to it, although you'd rather push it than ride it.
This is one of my favorite things about you right now: you want to be the one in charge, the one taking care of things, and because of this you are going to be an excellent big sister. Once the initial shock wears off (I fully expect the same impatience or quick judgment of this new sibling who will change your world), I know that you will be as caring and loving as any big sister could be. I know this because you push your animals around on the mickey plane, and lay out a blanket in the new baby's cradle and tell me this is where your brother-sister will sleep. I know it because you rock your baby doll in her own cradle and sing her Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, just like I sing to you before bed. And I know it, too, because I got you a Dora balloon for your birthday, a balloon as big as you, and as much as you love Dora, when I tried to put her in the infant car seat to get us all home, you screamed "no! that's where my brother-sister sits."
You will be an excellent big sister for many of the same reasons that you are an excellent daughter: your easy, big-hearted laugh, your spontaneous hugs and kisses, the way you frequently sing and dance when you're just walking across the room, how often you say "and me, too" in your quest to participate, to try new things, to help.
It is amazing how much of a personality you have already, how you are so very much yourself; as your mom, it's so much fun to watch you grow into yourself a little more every day, with every task, encounter, or conversation. It may not always be fun that I'm the one you need to test things out on, but I think I can take it. And I know how much your dad and I look forward to watching you become yourself, through whatever you may have in store for us. Know that we will always try to do what's best for you, but give you the freedom, when you're maybe just a little older, to help us figure out what that might be.
Love,
Mom
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