Thirty months.

My Dearest Alla,

I tucked you into bed a little late tonight, because we were at Borders looking at books. You absolutely ran when you found Are You My Mother? by P.D. Eastman, and then proceeded to read it to the little dolophin you carried over to me. Except that you discovered it was an abridged board book version and was missing the all-important The egg jumped. It jumped and jumped and jumped. Out came the baby bird! page. Back it went.

Yes, we were late coming home, but in truth, we could have made it into bed by eight, which I consider late, except that you are the world's longest dinner eater. I don't say slow because you are continuously eating. It's just that you eat so much. Tonight you had two pieces of Trader Joe's Spinach Pesto Pizza, and you told me with each bite of spinach, how very strong you were getting. Of course, two pieces of pizza is hardly enough for a two-and-a-half year old, clearly growing girl, so you then devoured a whole 'Daddy yogurt,' blueberry flavor. You love that these are kind of Daddy's yogurts and that it's kind of a secret when you've eaten one of them.

You just woke up, an hour after getting tucked in. Sometimes your covers get all twisted and you can't get them fixed in your sleep. That, and you sleep with about a million friends, who all end up cavorting with each other at the bottom of the bed. I asked if your covers were twisted. You said you just wanted me to give you a kiss, and then you leaned over and smooched me. You gathered Pondegore and Baby Rolla, laid back down on Daddy's pillow, decided no pillow was better, got all tucked in again, and I smoothed your hair out of your face. You told me I had cold hands. And then you farted. And said, That was me! We got you all situated, I gave you kisses and hugs and went to close the door, and then you told me to go brush Jelly. Sometimes he gets tangles, you said. Yep, sometimes he does.

It's hard, sometimes, to be joyous and creative and celebratory about each simple day, but, love, I remember the feeling when you were a newborn of not wanting to put you down and looking forward to when you would wake up so I could see you and hold you and smell you again. And it's still that way. I closed your door just now with a smile, not exasperation, a smile, a fullness in my heart, and felt I couldn't wait to see you tomorrow.

Today you're two and a half. You're telling people, too. The clerk at Target, Megan, Daddy. You're proud. You're so big. You're so old.

My cup runneth over, love.

Night, night. Night, night. Night, night.

I love you,

Mama