Two

Dear Vivian:

Well, it will come as no surprise that this birthday letter is a month late. I don't think I've ever been on time with one, and I'm making no plans to buck that trend. Don't take it personally, monkey, it's just that I don't have a lot of time when I can just sit quietly and think about you.

Part of the reason for that is you, of course. Remember when you were my quiet little easy baby? When you used to sit by the bookshelf and pull out book after book after book, reading them all quietly and never needing me to entertain you? Well, those days are long gone. Now, the minute I sit down at the computer you run over and grab my hand from the mouse: "No, Mommy!"; or climb up onto my lap, demanding to "look at letters"; or pester me relentlessly: "I want to go car, Mommy! Pick up Isaac? Mommy? Mommy!!". Makes it difficult to get my very important blogging done, sweetheart.

Oh, but I don't really care about that.



This is what I care about: the way you grab me about the knees, burrowing your head in, and say "I love ya, Mom," so casually. The sound of your disappointed "Oh---oh" when I've told you no, as if you are 10 years old, and not two. The way that you always, every. single. time. skip four when you are counting to twenty. The way you are, right at this minute, singing "E I E I O!!" at the top of your lungs instead of napping in your crib. The way you are giggling hysterically, when your brother (also not napping) repeats the same "song" back to you, even louder, from his perch in my bed.

Is it nice when you finally drift off?


Yes, of course. I mean, look how cute you are when you're asleep! Truth is, you are just as cute when you're awake. The last six months you have truly blossomed, Vivian. Suddenly, you are definite in your wants and you refuse to be distracted. From easy-going toddler you have morphed into incredibly independent pre-schooler. "I do it!" is your favorite sentence, and I hear it, with varying degrees of intensity, at least 300 times a day. Thing is, Vivian, those car seat buckles are made to be difficult for children under 5 to operate. You actually can't do it yourself, no matter how much you want to.

According to my mother, the independent streak comes from me, though I tend to think it is just you, rushing to keep up with your brother. So far, all of your friends are his, so they are all older than you are. You try as hard as you can to do everything they do, but sometimes it's hard. You will get there, Viv, trust me on that. Don't be in such a hurry to get somewhere else, try to enjoy what's going on right now.

In a few weeks you will be starting school with your brother, 3 mornings a week. Maybe you'll meet some girls there that will be doing things more your speed, and you won't feel like you have to keep measuring up to your brother. Or maybe you'll always feel that way; maybe that's what if feels like to be the second child. (God knows I never measured up to your aunt, but that's a whole different story.) I think school is going to be great for you, and I can't wait to see you make friends of your own.


When you were first born, Vivian, your brother was a very demanding 16 month old. I used to cry when I looked at you, because it felt so unfair to me: all of my time was spent trying to corral Isaac, and I didn't have much time for you at all. The first few months of your life I barely had time to sit down to nurse you. Even when you were awake, I left you alone, not having a second to play with you or read to you or do any of the things I did with Isaac when he was a newborn. However, now I think you've made out pretty well, because when you were 8 months old, Isaac started school. That means that for over a year now, you and I have shared 3 full mornings a week together. Granted, much of that time is spent running errands, but there have also been plenty of hours that you spent climbing all over me, tickling me and being tickled back*, playing "wubba wubba wubba"--the game you invented which involves you sitting on my knees and me "flying" you back and forth until you fall off. I have really, really enjoyed those hours with you, sweetheart, and I hope it makes up for the ones you missed as an infant.




I'm not sure how, exactly, but the fact is you are growing. You are in the 30th percentile for height and weight now, despite the fact that you refuse to eat anything that is not a carb. Or nitrates, you seem to really like those. Oh! And how could I forget the sugar?



I just keep cutting up vegetables for you and then throwing them away, hoping that one of these days you will actually get one into your digestive tract.

Oh, Viv. I just love you so. I love watching you grow up. I love watching you play with your brother. I love watching you learn how to do new things. But I admit to feeling a little bit nostalgic for your baby days, too. Don't grow up too fast, okay? You are, most likely, my last baby, and even though I complain about this mothering gig A LOT, the truth is I love it, and I don't want it to end.



Love,
Mom

*You may just be the most ticklish person on the planet, and NOTHING makes me happy than to hear your belly laugh whenever I so much as get near you with my tickling fingers.