So Jordan, my adorable dumpling of two-year old belligerence and lovebugness, today you are two and a month.
It turns out I LOVE writing these letters and documenting how the past month has changed you. And us. All of us.
You've started expressing an extreme preference for articles of clothing. Like these blue crocs. Which you insist on filling with wood chips while at the playground. Seriously. You sit down and very patiently and carefully shove as many wood chips as possible into your shoes.
And then walk around like it's all fine.
At least you're no longer eating them.
I don't know when you stopped doing this - sometime in the last couple weeks - but for the longest time you said "dooying" - as in "What's mama dooying?" "What's Jordan dooying?" And now you say "doing." I really miss the dooying. It was so cute.
One of the things I enjoy less is when you knock something over and then say, "Why'd you do that knock it over?"
What you have suddenly begun, just recently and out of nowhere is speaking Cockney. Out of the blue you pronounce things like lady "liedy" and table "tieble." It's like I have my own little Liza Doolittle around.
We performed that musical in high school, and so I will always, always have a soft spot for it. I'm tempted to teach you the Rain in Spain rhyme.
Nana and I left you for a week and it rocked your world a little bit. Your Grandma Rosemary and your Grandpa came and stayed while we were gone, and it was a nice opportunity to get to know each other.
Well, you got to know Grandma Rosemary. By the end of the week, you were still pointing to your grandfather, asleep in Daddy's chair, and saying, "Who is that man?"
Before your grandmother came, we told you all about how Grandma Rosemary LOVES backhoes. So you already had this in common. And you hit it off like a house on fire. I'm not exactly sure what that expression means, but I quite like it. And you did, you had a great time.
We had explained to you, over and over, that Mama would always come back. But you didn't quite trust it. And so when I walked in last Tuesday and you looked up and beamed, and said, "Mama come back!" it broke my heart a little.
And now, every day, whenever one of us leaves, we need to reassure you that we will be back. We will always be back.
We love you love you love you.