Dear Josie,

Yesterday, you turned 23 months old.

You are rapidly leaving babyhood and entering toddlerhood, although the transition isn’t complete yet.

You are ferociously independent, wanting to put on your own diapers, wash your own hands, carry your own cup/plate/lunch bag/toys/book. Your routines must be followed to the last mote of dust. You want to do absolutely everything you see your brother doing, especially if the thing is naughty or loud or involves an injury.

Except when you want to “me-me up!” (Your request to be picked up and carried.) Or when you want us to carry something for you. (“You do it!”)

At school, our drop-off routine goes like this. And by “like this,” I mean EXACTLY like this:

I carry you up the stairs to the main door to the toddler class area. Then I put you down on the landing and open the door. You walk through, holding your lunch bag. You walk to the classroom door while I sign you in for the day.

You enter the classroom and I say, “Josie, let’s put your lunch away.” Then I open the refrigerator door. If your teacher or one of your classmates opens the door, you have a total fit, start to cry, and sob, “Mommy do it! Mommy do it!” When the door has been opened to your satisfaction, you stand in front of the shelves and put your lunch near one of the bottom 2 shelves. I lean in and help make space so that you can push your lunch in the rest of the way. Then we step away and you close the refrigerator.

Next, you take a step or two towards the fun area of your classroom, where the books and dollhouse are. I say, “Josie, can I have my hug and my kiss and my push?” You turn around and grin at me, then we have a hug (which I narrate), each of us gives the other a kiss on the cheek (also narrated), and I stand up. “Now can you push me out the door, Josie?” You give me a gentle push in the direction of the door and hurry off towards the books.

When other parents are dropping children off at the same time, you get very upset. For the last 2 weeks, Olivia has taken part in the routine by announcing, as we put your lunch away, that she saw us at swimming lessons, and asking whose swimming class you are in. (Yes, every day for the last 2 weeks.)

Your hair is becoming so beautiful — I think you may have Nellie Oleson curls. Your teeth are finally growing in so that you look capable of chewing. Your canine teeth still haven’t erupted, but I think you have all the rest that might be expected. You are tall and solid, with many 2T dresses fitting you more like shirts.

And you are charmingly articulate, announcing things like, “Mommy, I spilled something!” or “I don’t like that!” When I respond, “Did you spill your milk, Josie?” you say very seriously, “Yes, Mommy.” You accurately understand most of the world around you, although you do have a few adorable malapropisms, like asking for mayonnaise when you want a bandaid, and misidentifying large trucks as choo-choo trains.

Your obsession with the Star Wars universe continues unabated. In particular, you love the movie, “The Empire Strikes Back.” You and Noah both break out in Darth Vader’s theme or the main movie music almost every day, and your habit of spotting Luke Skywalker around town has not let up.

You also love to read, draw, sing, and count. I’m not sure you understand counting, and for some reason, you always skip the number 3, but you frequently burst out, “one, two, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten!” You particularly enjoy having your toes counted. Besides toes, I think belly buttons are your favorite body part. You like to tickle your own and others, show yours off, and request to see other people’s belly buttons.

Our move has been hard on you. Last night, you asked to go back to “Mommy’s house,” and you don’t have much love for our new bedtime routine — the one that no longer gives you an hour of mommy time after Noah goes to bed. Now, the two of you share a room and a bedtime routine.

I love you, beautiful girl. And I look forward to your birthday next month.