Dear Noah,

On Saturday, you turned 2 years and 3 months old.

You sing your ABCs almost every day. If we sing along, you make it through the entire song with pretty good accuracy. If we watch you sing, you generally skip from about G to W, belting out the “next time won’t you sing with me?” And then you yell “Yay!” and clap enthusiatically.

You love identifying letters, especially when they’re written in bright colors. “That a D! That a red B!”

Even more than letters, you seem to love counting. You can reliably count objects, in real life or books, to about 6. And you can reliably count to 10 if you are counting for it’s own sake, not concrete items.

You love testing your independence, wanting to brush your teeth, cut your food, turn on and off the lights, and put on your shoes yourself. “I do it! I do it! I try! I try!”

But when you hit a wall — too many new people or experiences, or too tired — you hit it hard. Then all you want is for me to carry you, your face buried in my shoulder.

I think you’re at your best balance of loving and independent when we’re out in public in a place that’s new to you. You’re willing to hold Mommy’s hand, and even Grandma’s. But you gleefully pull us along to see the next exciting thing, whether that’s crossing the street or seeing another animal at the zoo.

Incidentally, speaking of the zoo, it would be totally ok with me if you quit talking about seeing the elephant pooping.

Your mommies love you.

love,

That Mommy