You are the biggest surprise I've ever had in my entire life. Who knew a nine pound twelve ounce baby could arrive after only 22 weeks of being pregnant?!?! You've added to my life in so many ways, I can barely keep track.
The dimple. In your right cheek. Yes, the one on your face. It kills me. Your big, blue eyes, your gape-mouthed-full-of-teeth smile, that laugh that causes people to stop in their tracks and join in your fun and merriment.
You are so adorable, I can't even stand you. You are going to turn three soon, and you'll probably be hell on wheels, because that's what three year-olds are. We learned quickly that the Terrible Twos was a total misnomer, coined by someone who thought two year-olds were slightly taller and a teensy bit more well-spoken than they really are.
But here's the thing: YOU ARE NOT THREE YET. So dispense with the constant screaming, and I swear to the Almighty Maker of our world if you call me STUPID STUPEY POOPEY one more time I just might start acting all stupid stupey poopey just to show you how good you really have it, buster.
And while we're at it? I really, really, really do not enjoy sliding my half-asleep self under your bed in the middle of the night when you have lost your binky. Maybe if you shouted at me a little less and kept your saucy mouth closed, you wouldn't lose your binky. Just a suggestion.
One final thought: Candy is not a meal.
Hugs and kisses,
aka Stupid Stupey Poopey Head