You're a toddler now, although you run a lot more than you toddle. You also dance and kind of jump, you spin in circles until you fall over and you can walk backwards all while telling us you're doing so, because kid, you're really, really smart. You're the kind of smart that makes other parents of toddlers disbelieving, as they simply cannot understand that you just said, "Airplane is in the sky!" or, "Thank you and you're welcome!" But you did, and you can say a great deal more. You have a truly incredible vocabulary, but the best thing about your mad verbalosity is that you actually speak in context. You're also able to form new sentences using the words you already know, which is especially impressive. I'm awfully proud, even though I can't take credit for your genetic predilections. Still, I've read Hop on Pop to you so many times that I can take SOME credit for your development, as I think Dr. Seuss is guaranteed to improve your rhyming abilities, at least, so maybe you'll become a rapper. That would make Stephanie happy.
You know, though, butterbean, while I love that you can communicate with us so well, it's not your talking that makes you the greatest kid on Earth. It's not that or your mean dancing moves or the way you stroke my hair when you're tired. You're just so WONDERFUL. All around. You're funny and sweet and perfect and lovely. I just love to hold you so some of the overburdening love I feel for you can maybe be shared by osmosis. As clingy as this makes me sound, I just despise being away from you because I miss the way you change the air in a room just by your presence. You make it that much more worth breathing. You have brought a grace to our lives, a fulfillment, and I hope you can see this in the way we tell you we love you, which is a lot. Thank you, my sweetest monkey pants, for being our daughter.
And I'm sorry I mess with your hair so much. I know you hate it. I won't stop, but, you know, sorry.
I love you, love you, love you.