Sweet Owen,

Two years ago right now I was in labor. Right now you are playing stickers and telling me for the nine hundredth time the story of the jack-in-the-box ("pop weasel, round and round, open, monkey in there!"). You chose your own clothes today, in honor of your birthday and the three feet of snow that have had us trapped in the house for the past week, so you are wearing your doggy pajama shirt, your alligator pajama shirt, and your baseball pajama pants. You speak exclusively in full sentences now, my favorite is "Excuse me please, Mama." I cannot even begin to transcribe your pronunciation of "excuse me" and it makes me laugh every time.

You are very opinionated and want to share your thoughts widely and loudly. I spend all day hearing Owen likes, Owen wants, Owen loves, Owen no like, etc. You adore Barney, trains, dogs, cats, iPhones, spicy food, pop-tarts, jello, running around the house while screaming like a lunatic, throwing snowballs, making choices, and anything at all that you can do all by yourself. You can't pronounce "s" yet and instead say "tch," so ears are "eartch" and please is "pleatch" and kiss is "kitch." You call snow "snowman." You call yourself "Oh-eee" and I am trying hard not to call you that myself because I know you will hate it soon enough, but it is adorable and I can't help it.

You run (fast!), you jump (just barely, but you have mastered the two-footed lift-off and catch a centimeter or two of air), you sing (twinkle twinkle, happy birthday, the Barney clean up song, and Somewhere Over the Rainbow). You can throw a tantrum that makes everyone in the area sit back and watch in awe and terror. You love to blow your nose and brush your teeth and try to drink out of a cup.

You are all little boy, racing as fast as you can toward all the new things you can do and learn and try. Yesterday you fell asleep in my lap for an oh-so-rare afternoon nap, and I just sat there and sniffed your neck and ran my lips over your blond buzz cut and marveled at how rarely these days you sit still for anything and how just two years ago we hadn't even met you yet.

I'm so glad we met you, Monkey-O. Happy Birthday.

Love,
Mama