Almost two-years-old, Rosemary, and as always, you're equal parts silly and sweet. Sometimes you're more silly than anything. I am still your best friend. It's me you call for first thing in the morning. From your crib, you cry, "Mommy coming? Mommy coming? Mooooommmmmmy, open doooooor." It's my arms you want when you're tired, sad, or just plain snugly. I won't lie. I'm enjoying it. Daddy's Day will come too. Probably soon. That's not to say, though, that he's just "Daddy." He is "DAAAADDDDDDYYYYY!!!!!!" If only exclamation points could accurately convey the decibels your squeals reach. Your pigtails are adorable. You've taught yourself to do pretty much everything. You name it, and you can do it--including talk. You talk very well. I must say on family outings, our side, Rosemary, of the car is much more chatty than the silent Finn-and-Daddy side.
I wish I had a freeze ray. Then I could keep you like this forever, but this is the bitter sweetness of parenthood. Finn, I believe, says it best: