In which Birdie Turns Two
April 4th, 2015
Because I’m conscious of the fact that language is important, I am careful to avoid talk that might engender negative body image in my children.
But we’re all friends here and Birdie can’t read, so I’m just going to go ahead and say it. That girl is a heifer.
My third-born celebrated her second birthday a couple weeks ago and weighed in at 30 pounds, 35.5 inches at her checkup. That puts her squarely in the 80-85% percentile for height and weight and – if the childhood age trajectories prove correct – will mean she’ll be the tallest of the three kids.
She’s thirty pounds of feisty lovability, that one.
I refuse to stress out about parties for tiny people who have the attention span of fruit flies, but her birthday was a festive day nonetheless. Pink tutu? Check. Birthday crown? Check.
Elaborate breakfasty dinner featuring cinnamon rolls, eggs, assorted meats, fresh fruit, and cheesy hashbrowns? Check.
You might think that after a dinner like that, birthday cake would be unnecessary…
…but you’d be totally and completely wrong.
If forced to describe my last-born in three words, I’d have to go with – Magical Wee Sprite. (Yes, I know I called her a heifer before but relative to me, she’s still a wee sprite so let’s jut go with it, okay?).
She stomps joyously through the house in her brother’s snow boots, singing “Let It Go” at the top of her voice and twirls until she’s dizzy while wearing sparkly Minnie Mouse ears.
She’s fiercely independent, eschewing all adult assistance in such matters as selecting her pajamas, putting on her shoes, or walking down the steps into the garage. She’s bossy and imperious and frequently insists that her big sister share her chair and feed her bites of dinner.
Little Bird’s default answer to anything Josh says is – “No, Mommy” but in the morning she hurtles herself across the room and throws herself onto him with a cheerful “yuv you, Daddy.”
With her growing verbal development, she’s quickly mastering the art of tattling on her brother. She’ll come racing into the room, pointing behind her and weeping “Bubby! Bubby!” in tones of deep reproach. In fact, one of the first sentences I ever heard her utter was – “Stop It, Bubby.”
All that personality packed into such a small creature is just enchanting. I know I say this about every age that any of my children are currently occupying, but clearly two-year-olds are the best things ever.