Dear Sara,

 

You have had an AMAZING EIGHT day birthday extravaganza.  For the final day (your actual birthday), you awoke and stated, “I 2 Day”.  I’m 2 today.  I don’t think you conceive of birthdays or that you have an actual age.  You are simply repeating me, which has become a dangerous past time.  One evening it took Daddy all evening to get you  to stop saying “shit” and convince you I was talking about my “shirt”.

 

For you, this week long Mardi Gras has been about eating icing off of oddly squishy, cake-like plates.  If you could, I’m sure you’d request your icing on a regular plate, as opposed to these vanilla spongy plates I keep handing you.  Not to worry, after licking the icing, you hand them right back to me.

 

 

I think everyone’s favorite part of the Sara Carnivale was our Gymboree party.  You and your pals basically screamed with laughter for a solid hour and a half.   Never has so much age appropriate fun been had by the Four Muskateers (Sara, Noah, Bryce & Avery).  Hyping you up on sugar and then letting you play games in a gym specifically designed for toddlers was as much fun for us as it was for you.

 

 

 

As usual, I teared up as we sang the first song when the Gymboree games began.  I can’t help but be overwhelmed by the sheer joy of our lives.  Who gets this much goodness?  Who gets to spend their daughter’s second birthday surrounded by friends and family on a perfect day in a beautiful facility, full of bubbles and music?  It’s like a fairy tale.  Some would argue that many people get this dream, but I disagree.  We are surrounded by a world full of want and need.  I want you to grow up knowing that this type of life is to be cherished.  Every blessed second.

 

 

The week was commemorated by  a ridiculous number of “prizes”.  I call presents “surprises”, so you exclaimed many times, “I open prizes!”.  Oh gracious.  The books and clothes and toys, oh my.  Aunt Jenny and Uncle Jason gave you a cash register.  You keep running around the house with a fake 5 in your hand screaming, “I have money!”. I have no idea if you got that gene from Daddy or from me.  If you stick it back in the register at night, you have Daddy’s gene.  If you try to buy a purse in a backroom in Chinatown, you inherited Mommy’s Money Gene.  Grandma Sally and Pa Pa Ray gave you baby furniture, and we quickly named the new doll, Noodle.  We now have IshPooh and Noodle.  You got Mommy’s Naming DNA.  My favorite doll as a child was named Arrietty.  When you name your first child Moxie Crimefighter, I promise not to laugh.  It won’t be your fault.

 

The Piece de Resistance has to be the “playset” from Grandmommy and Granddaddy.  We call it a playset, but it’s more of a second house in the backyard.  What’s crazy is that you’ll never remember life without the Slide/Cabin/Fort/Climbing Wall/Tunnel/Swingset/Lookout Post.  If Grandma Donna were here, she’d shake her head and tell me I’m going to ruin you.  She’d say it as she was shoving a cookie and piece of chocolate down your throat, while handing you a prize.  Granddaddy, Uncle Randy and Daddy spent 3 solid days putting it together in the 100 degree heat.  If that isn’t the definition of love, show me what I’m missing.  Every day starts and ends with you begging to go outside.

 

So, as the future comes charging towards us at a pace that makes me wonder who hit the Fast Forward button on my life, I find myself wanting to stop the clock and speed it up in the same breath.  Every day our conversations grow longer, and I anxiously await the future, wondering who you will be.  At the same time, I want to hold you here.  Hold you with me, in this moment, forever and forever.  The moments when I am your entire world, and it is encapsulated in speech every time you say “Mommy”.  The adorable wiggle to your hips when you walk.  Your little face.  Your funny pout.  The way you say, “Yeah Sara!” and hug me when you earn a sticker on your reward chart.  “I no throw food Mommy!”.  Isn’t it so weird to want and not want something all at once?!  Oh my God.  I’ve caught the 2 year old virus!  You want/not want the same thing all day long!  Great.  If I start announcing my poops to the world, please shoot me.

 

 

Love, Hugs and Icing Eskimo Kisses,

 

Mommy

President of the Ducky Wigglebottoms Fan Club