Two

My beautiful girl, today you are two.

Never could I have known how far someone could evolve and grow in just 365 days before you came along. Your legs have lengthened, your belly shrunk, the baby fat seems to have melted away and that infant that I knew has been replaced with this almost-child. In the past year you've learned to walk and talk, to brush your teeth and use a spoon and fork all by yourself. You show empathy for your peers and affection to friends and relatives. In this large world you've begun to carve out a place for yourself. A place that is all yours, separate from me.




I have just a few important years before you let go of my hand in earnest, but until then I'm going to hold onto it tightly. The casual observer may not notice how a two year old exerts her independence, but I see it. Today you want to get out of your stroller so you can roam unassisted, tomorrow you'll be going off to school and the day after that you'll be preparing for college. It happens that quickly. But today you still, for the most part, hold my hand. You need my help in almost all facets of your life. And I am here to help you. For as long as you need me I'll be here for you.



A terrible tragedy happened yesterday and that might be why I'm so quick to look ahead at your life instead of concentrating on your accomplishments to date. But the loss of those children, so full of promise, might be just the jolt I need to remind me to savor each and every day I have with you. One day you will leave for college and I will no longer be able to linger over your shoulder, making sure you cross the street assisted, that you're eating right, that you get your daily allotment of hugs and kisses.

You haven't made things easy for me, but every time I'm ready to throw in the towel I have to remember those students in Virginia and how they were once wonderfully frustrating toddlers. When they were young their parents picked them up when they fell and skinned their knees and kissed their boo boos. Their parents tucked them in at night and watched the rise and fall of their chest as they slept. Their parents wished and hoped and sacrificed for them so that they could get an education. That education that would take them one more step away from their childhood.

I do not want to dwell on tragedy, but instead celebrate this messy complicated life that I have been given to watch over. Yours. My daughter's. I'm sorry to say that most days I don't know what I'm doing, but I still take my job very seriously. And that job is to love you and care for you for as long as I'm given the opportunity to do so, on special days and mundane. Through tantrums and sleepless nights. Messy faces and eskimo kisses. I'll take all of it for as long as I can get it.



Today you are two. I will try to remember to take things one day at a time if you will allow me to catch up when time gets away from me. And let me hold your hand on occasion.




Happy Birthday to my ocean child with the windy smile. I love you.