My Eve

Next week you turn two.

Two years ago, I sat on this very couch, large and uncomfortable and about to embark on the biggest journey of my life: being your mother. You came into this world loud and on a mission and determined and amazing and beautiful, and you remain all of those things to this day.

Today you are not feeling well. But you wouldn't be able to tell judging by the size of your smile. You are always on a quest for laughter. I just sometimes wish that you wouldn't take the route that inevitable leads through your sister and whatever she's doing at the moment in order to get there. At the age of almost-two, you have found each and every one of her (and mine, and Daddy's) buttons, and you know exactly the right way to push them. But for every squabble and scrape the two of you get in, there are moments that are equally awesome to witness. I found myself on the brink of tears tonight when I returned home to you and Daddy after picking Josie up from Betty's house. You see, you stayed home with Daddy today so you could go see the doctor, and your sister went to daycare. The two of you don't spend a lot of time apart, and the hug the two of you shared upon your reunion showed exactly that. Of course, about 1 minute and 37 seconds later, you had hit her, or pulled her hair, or looked at her the wrong way, and the sweet moment was gone. But it won't be forgotten by your Mommy any time soon.

Your vocabulary continues to grow each and every day. You just told me tonight that "Daddy all done vacuum" and "Che-che brush teeth sink first potty." You sing all the time. Of course, you have the huge advantage of being able to listen to your sister sing all the time. You can do your ABC's all the way through, with a little prompting. You'd prefer to start the alphabet song with H-I-J... and you can. Because you're so stinkin' cute when you do it. You like to sing "Are You Sleeping?" and we always change the words to "Genevieve, Genevieve" instead of "Brother John, Brother John." I can't think of anything more awesome than to hear you try to say your own name. It comes out something like "Gen-A-Eaef" which is actually way more accurate than some others who have tried and who shall remain nameless.

You have this trait that I have no choice but to admit comes from me and both sides of my lineage. (Although your Daddy especially likes to point out the strong daughter-mommy-grandmommy-greatgrandmommy link for this particular trait. But he didn't really get a chance to know your granddaddy Bill well enough.) It's a stubborn streak so deep and wide that I can't even see the other side of it while standing on this bank with you holding your hand so you don't fall in. The more we try to get you to do something, the more you will resist. And you've got the whole reverse-psychology thing completely figured out already. Everything you do is punctuated with the word "Self." You insist on climbing in your carseat by yourself and climbing on the sink to reach your toothbrush by yourself and climbing in your chair at the table by yourself. And you actually do a very good job, now that you're not nearly as clumsy as you used to be. The more I push you to move faster, the heavier and slower you become. You do things at your own speed. Our treks to the garage in the morning can take anywhere between 1 and 12 minutes, depending on the interest you take in the ants, moths, trees, dog poop, squirrels and toys you see on the way. And the sooner I come to grips with your self-imposed speed limits, the more likely I am to maintain my sanity. I can only hope there is a support group with enough Margaritas and girls-nights-out to get me through your teenage years.

But for right now, let's just work on this year ahead. Two. I have a feeling it's going to be quite a ride. I'm not going to label it with the "t" word, because I don't want to proclaim a self-fulling prophecy. You're spirited, and you're sweet and dynamic and you're just you. One of your favorite things to say is "want it." Of course, you're just as quick to say "wuv you" or "nuggle me," or to demand a "tiss," which involves you grabbing the object of your affection by both sides of the head and pulling close to be sure you get a proper kiss squarely on the lips. None of this silly cheek-kissing for you. I crave you some days so badly it hurts. We're blessed to have you in our lives, and I can't wait to see what the year ahead will bring.