Dear Noah,

Today you turned 22 months old.

We’ve reached the point where I feel silly describing your age in months, unless the person I’m telling also has a 2-ish toddler.

This has been the month of new distinctions/adjectives in your vocabulary explosion. Choo-choos are now both “freight car” and “engine;” when I make goofy sounds or kiss your belly, I am “silly Mommy” or “funny Mommy.” When Jill gets up with you because I’m swimming at the gym, you sometimes ask for “other Mommy” and she teasingly tells you, “No, THIS Mommy!” When she is then gone for some reason, you ask me for “Dis Mommy?”

It’s clear that you also recognize us as a family now. A few weeks ago, you gave your Mommy and me the best parenting moment we’ve had so far.

You love your new train table, and provide us with a running commentary on the choo-choos needing to “look out!” when they are going “up hill!” or “down hill!” Sometimes they go “bah-wards,” or “turn around!” Most often, they still go “A-boon!” You giggle and set them up again, explaining that the “choo-choo apart!” Your trains continue to entertain you for hours at a time.

You also love trying on new words and sounds, especially if they include movement, so Jill taught you to do the Legally Blonde “bend & snap.” It’s unbelievably funny.

You have the best laugh.

You like to pretend things. One of your books talks about “Boo-boos” and how to care for them, including getting a kiss to make the boo-boo feel better. I think that in the last 10 days, you’ve had roughly 30,000 boo-boos needing kisses. Of those, I think 2 involved any kind of perceptable potential boo-boo.

You remain a big boy for your age. This weekend, Grandma bought you a pair of size 9 shoes. They have room in the toes, but they’re listed as the size for 3-3.5 year old children. We also buy you 3T shirts, sweaters, and pjs, although you’re still in 2T pants. With cinched-in waists.

I never imagined how much fun you would be. And it keeps getting better.

Your mommies love you so much, sweet boy.

love,

Mommy