Happy 2nd Birthday, Libby!

Miss Libby, you're two today! What are you up to these days?


You're talking! You've started making three- and four-word sentences: "Mommy, here remote!" "Mommy, Daddy home!" "Mommy, Aba (Adam) hit me!" (Busted, Adam.)

You are riding your three-wheeled Radio Flyer scooter with surprising agility. I have a feeling that in a couple years those boys will have nothing on you. You love your little pink helmet.

You love to wipe your nose. It's not runny. You just want to wipe it. Constantly. I have to hide the baby wipes and napkins, or you would go through them all in an hour. If you had a wristwatch, I am pretty sure you'd keep a tissue in the band...

Which leads me to believe that you have inherited my "I'm really a ninety-year-old deep down" gene. Andrew has it, too. I'm sorry. You may expect a lifetime of being cold in a 75-degree house and wanting to take a lot of naps. Other than that, it's not so bad.

Instead of "Carry me" and "Hold me" you say "Carry you" and "Hold you" and reach up your arms. I heart this.

You are developing a sneaky little obsession with a green RoseArt marker. Fortunately it's washable. I don't know how you keep getting a hold of this particular marker, but this week you have used it to scribble on the walls, the fireplace, the carpet, your rocking chair, and, of course, yourself. In fact, I had to pause in my writing of this post to pry the green marker (again) out of your grasping little hand and wipe the marks off the kitchen table and chairs.

You love books! This makes Mommy sooooooo very happy. "Read! Read! Read!" you demand, waving books in our faces. If they're Sesame Street books, so much the better, in your opinion.

You finally have all your teeth...except those two-year-old molars. I have a suspicion they're lurking right below the surface because, to be honest, you've been a bit of a grouch the past week or two. And that is not at all like you!

You are super-adorable. Daddy and I can't decide if it's your sweet little face, your hysterical little personality, or your funny little outfits. (Mommy has a slight obsession with dressing you and is unashamedly going to continue to put you in the pinkest, girliest stuff I can find until you are old enough to object.)

Two years ago, we did not think you could get any sweeter than this:

We were wrong. Happy birthday, little two-year-old girl!