Deep Breath, World: She's Two

While the rest of the world remembers September 11 today, we VT's have our own anniversary to celebrate:  Sylvie turns two, or OH MY LORD WE HAVE SURVIVED THIS FAR.  Fortunately I have a few more years before I have to explain to her why the flags fly at half mast on her birthday.  Really, Sylvie, it's nothing personal.

But oh my sweet dear wonderful girl, I would be lying if I said you were easy.  In fact, ever since Margaux was born, I have occasionally thought you were ruining our lives.  Since that day when you tried to pick up - or drop - Margaux, even though that little incident was entirely my fault I have felt like we were almost adversaries.  And then on our vacation - oh, what a nightmare you were!  The prospect of flying with you filled your father with such dread that he bought you an iPod.  Of course we understood - you toddlers don't like to travel - but the sleepless nights and grumpy days were at times unbearable to me when coupled with my fluctuating postpartum psychosis.

So we've regressed a little bit.  So what?

Lack of sleep prompts ingenuity.

And now we are going through another challenge with you:  preschool.  You are not thrilled.  You scream and cry for me, and it kills me.  Because as difficult as you can be sometimes, the flip side of you is even more true:  you are the most spunky, delightful fillet of two year old who has ever existed - I am pretty sure.  You have a very sophisticated sense of humor.  You laugh at your brothers' jokes.  You charm everyone with your sly grin and twinkly, mischievous brown eyes.  Everyone asks:  "Where did she COME from?"  Because a) compared to your albino siblings, you look like a gorgeous, exotic Latina, with your brown sugar skin and chestnut-speckled hair, and b) you have none of that innate reticence with other adults that your siblings have.

You are always ready to party.  You have just scaled the rock wall on our play set, which scares me to death.  You are so polite - "Tank you, Mama.  Scuse me, Mama.  Sawwy, Mama" - in a dialect so achingly adorable I wish I could bottle up that baby voice to replay when you are in high school riding on the back of some thug's motorcycle.  You are such a surprise to me, dear Sylvie, and I can't wait to see what's next for you. 

But we'll be glad when your Dora obsession ends.