Dear Hank

Dear Hank,

Today you are two. Gosh, just typing out that sentence brought tears to my eyes. Which is silly, because, let's face it, you're an old two. Strangers out and about are always shocked when I tell them that you're "not quite two" because they think you are closer to four.

You seem older than you are because you are so darn capable, kid.

• You can follow directions with the best of them. 
• You can get your own milk out of the refrigerator (after moving the step stool over since the shelves are kind of high). 
• You can climb every possible ladder at the park. Even if it seems like you shouldn't be physically capable of it.
• You can get your own snacks. 
• You can have yourself pants-less and diaper-less in four seconds flat. 
• You can carry your plate or bowl full of food to the table all by yourself. 
• You can tell me exactly what you want, using correct pronouns.
• You can carry on conversations with your brother. And know exactly how to tell him that you don't like what he's doing. And then you can tell me exactly what happened when Johnny did something you didn't like. 

You're truly amazing. When I went back to read posts from last year when you turned one, it just reminded me of how much you have learned and changed this past year. I would read one post and think "When did that change?" or "I barely even remember that."

I love you to pieces, but I wish you wouldn't grow so quickly.

Gone are the days of countless hours of peek-a-boo. Gone is the fixation with rubber duckies. Gone is the uncoordinated toddler running.

And now you're obsessed with building towers. And train tracks. And playing with cars. And making art. And watching videos about construction trucks on YouTube. All things that big kids like. You're only two! How can you be a big kid already?

But I don't want to change you. Because you are perfect the way you are, and will always be perfect to me.

That doesn't mean that I can't wish certain things wouldn't change. Like how much delight you find in making me a cake at your pretend kitchen and how hard you laugh when I pretend to eat it. Or how you always stop to smell and pick flowers when we go on walks. Or how you give my belly a kiss randomly and say "I kissed the baby!". Or how when you feel bad or get hurt, you want your mommy and no one else will do.

I know in my head that a day will come when you will run to others for comfort or help. I know already that's going to be hard for me to take, but understand that even though I wish these things to stay the same, I also know that's impossible because I also want you to grow up. And growing up means you have to pull away from me a little. And that's okay.

I love you so much, Hank. I cannot wait to see what this year will bring for you!

Love,
Mommy