On This, Your Last Night of Being One

You can’t stand carrots, but you’ll pretend not to see little cubes of them if I shove them in your quesadilla, and then we shove the quesadilla in your mouth, together.

You are just learning about colors, and only know orange and blue. Arj. Boo.

You love hearts. It’s Valentine’s Day, and you liked the heart balloon with a bear I got for you quite a bit. Haaaart.

You start most meals in your highchair, and you finish most meals in my lap.

You like to help make meals.

Henry making Korean food.

You are nearly unphotographable, because you just want to take the camera away from me.

You’re a milkaholic. I never thought this would be the case at 2 years old, but you’re a mymilkaholic.

You carry your stuffed dolphin around everywhere, and use it as a pillow at night. You are what your father calls a “stuffed animal terrorist,” because you are so passionate and possessive of your many, many animals.

You know which parent you want when you wake up and call for one of us, and aren’t shy about saying “no!” to the wrong one.

You are distraught when we tell you that your babysitter is coming, but sometimes I hear you laughing so hard with her that I am afraid you will choke. You hug her and kiss her a zillion times when she leaves.

When asked a question and the answer is the affirmative, you wait a beat and then loudly say out a very well-enunciated YES.

You are full of wonder and you fill me with wonder. In short, wonderful.

I love you I love you I love you, tiny Valentine.

Happy birthday!