You had a birthday last month and you're not a baby anymore. You can run and play on your own and make up silly songs. Now that you are speaking in sweet rudimentary sentences ("Mama. Belly. Big. Baby. Coming.") I know that somehow you've developed a Boston accent ("Cah! Beah!") instead of picking up my Miami accent. But at least you can point out Miami on a map (as long as it's marked by a big ol' gator). You love chocolate and turtles and trucks and snow and helmets. And Elmo. You really, really, love Elmo. You do a mean elephant impression, though your lobster is pretty darn cute. And you make your papa and me laugh every night without fail. Everyday you dazzle us with something amazing (today you finally learned to jump - who knows what tomorrow will bring!).
Two will be a very good year. To quote you, "Hoo-oo--ray!" to that.