Dear Ducky,

We are deep in the throes of two-y-ness. You sass, you disobey, you challenge authority with both of your “stinky feet” (Grandmommy taught you the phrase so you’d keep your shoes on…genius!). But you also hug and kiss without us begging for your affection. You laugh uncontrollably at yourself and at the world around you. Your tantrums are legendary (try 3 hours last night), but so are your smiles.

My favorite event of the month is your singing. You have started singing on your own. It started with Row Row Row Your Boat (OK, to be fair, you leave out most of the words, but you pause as if you were singing them). It goes something like, “Row Row Row…nodding of your head….BOAT, gent down….more nodding….STREEE, Merr Merr Merr Merr…..extensive nodding….DREEE!”. Then one day you busted out the entire alphabet. No joke. A through Z. I first thought to call Montel and tell him of my child prodigy, but I’m pretty sure your friends can sing it too. And you have no idea you are singing letters. So there’s that….

And just when I thought it couldn’t get any cuter, you made up a song. At least I think you did. I’ve checked with everyone I know, including your teachers, and no one seems to know where you got the following (which you repeat so many times that I have it memorized):

OH WAH Ohchee Ose, TAAAKE Me home.

It’s got to be something about rafting. Or shopping for cookies. I’m joking of course. I have no idea what you are singing, but we always laugh together at the end of your aria.

My other fave is the cooking. We cook together every single day, and sometimes at every meal. We make everything from oatmeal to macadamian encrusted Mahi Mahi. There is no meal I make that I can’t find something for you to do. You can spot any kind of onion from a mile away and immediately point to your eyes, saying, “no onion eyes!” We pull your art chair up to the island, and share some of the greatest moments I have experienced in parenthood. Maybe someday you’ll be on Top Chef. Not as a contestant, but as a guest judge. All of the contestants will whisper, “Oh my God, it’s Sara Felice, the most renowned of all chefs. She redefined seafood cuisine by the time she was 25.” And you’ll be able to state that you’ve been cooking since you could stand, because that’s the God’s honest truth. If you feel the need to dedicate your first cookbook to me, I’ll understand.

The talking is exponential. Again, not sure where that comes from. HAH! It’s mostly just a series of non-stop demands from sun up to sun down. You like to exclaim, “I need butt cream!”. It’s diaper cream, but your Daddy calls it butt cream. To show him two can play at that game, I taught you a new word too. Tonight you looked at Daddy and said, “I need butt cream Daddy! I have diarrhea!” . You can cry this all out in therapy in a couple of decades.

Some days I pray to survive the MINE MINE, it’s all MINE phase. I swear, you’d stake claim to the air molecules if you could. Nobody breath! It’s my air! But you have a way of making even this painful 2-dom cute. You are using pronouns, but incorrectly. Today, you kept saying, “My do it!”. I instructed, “I do it, Sara. You should say I do it.” To which you replied, “IIII MY do it Sara”. Then you handed me the shoe you had ripped off in the car, and said, “Thank you Sara!” Touche Wigglebottoms. Touche.

Your Dedicated Sous Chef,

Mommy