There are days when I look at you and think that it cannot be possible that you aren’t even 2 yet. You look it, you act like it, surely you’re much older than the date on your birth certificate. And yet, I know the truth. I was there, after all.
You took to Christmas as if you were one of Santa’s elves. This warms my heart, since my own love of all things Christmas might seem a little fanatical to other, less enthusiastic people. It’s nice to have backup. You can sing "Silent Night" all the way through. Which is quite awesome, but also not surprising since your grandma and I have been singing it to you as a lullaby since you were born. "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town" and "Jingle Bells" are also in your repertoire (perhaps you don’t have all the words down to sing, but you know, oh yes, you know). You’re on your way to Christmas choir, my girl.
Santa and you, well, it’s true love. As long as we’re not talking Santa, real and in person. A picture of the big guy, a huggable doll, a cookie in his likeness – all are wonderful. But the minute we approach the real deal, say at the mall, it’s a no go. Luckily, we got a couple of decent pictures back last month before you figured out what you thought of the man himself, but you decided fairly quickly that day that you didn’t want to sit on his lap ever, thankyouverymuch. And every subsequent visit, you stated your position quite clearly.
You’ve taken the tantrum to your own personal art form. Please stop this. You can jettison your new found “Uh-uh” response to just about any question as well. Save the attitude for when you’re a teenager. Wait, strike that, just forget the attitude altogether and we’ll be just fine.
And so we begin a new year, one in which you actually will turn 2, and then you can really show off the skills usually described as terrible that you’ve been practicing for a long time. You’ll learn something new every day, and I can’t wait to find out what that will be. Just be sure to keep giving those hugs.