Sage: 2 years

Two years old.


How does that happen?

Even preparing for it for weeks didn’t actually prepare me.

I don’t even know what to tell you about. In the past month, you’ve continued to astound us by knowing and correctly using more words than we thought you knew. That’s probably the biggest thing lately.

For example, we were upstairs and I said aloud, “Whoops. I forgot to get a laundry basket.” You jumped up from where you had been playing with a toy, stuck a fist in the air, yelled, “LAHDWY BAKKET!” and took off running. I took off after you, through the loft, through the master bedroom, through the master bath, and into the closet — where you were trying to pick up a laundry basket.

You correctly identified the letters of your name, where they are hanging on your wall. You’re still iffy on most of your letters, but you understand that they make words that you can read.

You like to narrate to us when you’re watching a cartoon. “Oh, no. Jake fall. Jake gonna be okay? I don’t know. Look — dere’s Captain Hook. Sneaky snook. What he doing? He swimming. Wook out! Tick-Tock Cwoc!”

You play the piano whenever you have a chance, and you sing parts of your favorite songs as you play. “Twinka staaaah… wonda… ahhh. Above high, diamunnnn.” “Wo, wo, wo boat, down stweam. Mewwy, mewwy, mewwy, dweam.” “Jinga behz, jinga behz. Awdawayyyy.”

There was this, on December 3rd:

“Can you say ‘Merry Christmas’?”
“Merry Christmas.”
“All right.”
“Well, let’s see…”
“Weww, wet’s see.”
“Are you repeating me?”
“Awoo peatin?”
… “Merry Christmas.”
“You’re a looney.”

You spent one evening telling me the adventures of “Superbaby,” which you were clearly making up on the spot. It was fantastically entertaining.

You listened to me practicing a song for church and at the end, you said, “Yay! One MORE time!”

Everyone comments on how polite you are. You say please and thank you and you’re welcome, and you insist on taking turns (although sometimes our turns are very, very short because you’re so excited). You say hi and bye and you blow kisses and wave. You like giving hugs — sometimes even to people you really don’t know. You’re a sympathetic crier, too — if another kid starts crying, you feel so bad for them that you start, too.

On the rare days when you’re behaving badly — or what is badly for you but for other kids your age is often normal — you almost always finish up the evening by snuggling and telling us either “thank you” or “sowwy” or both.

Just today, you started identifying people on the phone by name. You talked to several relatives who called to wish you a happy birthday, and you named them. “Hi, Susie.” “Hi, Gwamma Max.” “Hi, Gwampa Way.” And so on. We were so proud!

I wish there were some magical way to make you understand how much your mother and I love you. We’re already so proud of the little girl you’re becoming, and you’re only two years old. We drove back to the NICU where you spent your first couple weeks, to deliver cookies to the nurses and to the family lounge; you charmed everyone. I got the feeling that some of the nurses had been having a bad day, and I think you made it better just by being your charming, friendly self.

Tomorrow is Christmas. We’re going to see so many of your favorite people; I wish you had a good, solid understanding of the concept of “tomorrow,” but that’s a really tough one at your age.

My advice to you this month is not new.

When something is repeated often enough, it often starts to lose impact. That’s why it’s important, sometimes, to highlight that thing.

So: Sage, be who you are.

I mean it. If you are not being who you are, you’ll know it, and I promise you that you will be happier if you let go of the expectations others have of you.

That’s it.

Sage: we love you. We love you so much that it sometimes takes our breath away. That will never change. Thank you for being such a wonderful daughter; I promise I’ll do my best to be the father you deserve.


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