Happy second birthday to our beautiful boy!
You are a man of many names, the George Charles Lindh IV who goes by Charlie, but is routinely called Charlie Bird, Bird and even Bird-Bird by your classmates. I don't know how it happened, since I don't particularly like birds or jazz, but you are our Bird, and we love you.
I feel like I don't even know what you all did this last year. I just looked at your first birthday post and was shocked at how little you were. I mean, you were a baby. And now you are running everywhere (with flair!) and making your demands in a fashion that I can best liken to a skipping record. "Dada! Dada! Dada! Dada!" plays on repeat until you get his attention. "Wa-wa! Wa-wa! Wa-wa!" is shouted at a piercing decibel until you get your drink. I would like to say that we don't negotiate with terrorists, but we totally do. To your credit, you usually say "peesh!" and always throw in a "TANK TU!" once your demands are met, and I'm guessing that terrorists are not so unfailingly polite.
You are still a good sleeper, a relatively good eater and an exceptional pooper. You refuse to sit in the same restaurant-style high chair that your sister occupied until she was three, you like to remove your own diapers (sometimes on the changing table, sometimes in the crib, sometime wherever you damn well please) and you want to buckle your own car seat. Basically, if there is something to be done, you want to be the one doing it. Or at least voicing your opinion on how something should be done. Between you and your sister, it is clear that we are not raising any shrinking violets.
You're not so much into growth, and are wearing 18-24 month clothes and size 5 shoes. Your nana is convinced that if your feet don't grow soon, one day you will just topple over. So maybe it's a good thing that you always—always—remove your shoes and socks the first chance you get. Even your teachers have given up on the shoe removal issue. Apparently Miss Betty and Miss Cynthia negotiate with terrorists as well.
You love cars, trucks and tractors—oh, how I love to watch you push cars across the floor and get down flat on your belly to play! And I must say that it is utterly fascinating to see how differently you play than your sister. It is also utterly amazing to see you play with your sister. Hello, heartwarming city.
But even as you charge ahead into the toddler years, you still have moments where you want to be held. Your hesitation when presented with a new setting usually requires a pick up, and while it can get old carting you around the MoBot Children's Garden, I do so love the fact that you still look to us to protect you from the big, scary world of play sets and carousels. And you are always good for a nighttime snuggle between books and bed. With each passing day, I squeeze and nuzzle you more, knowing that one day you will protest when I want to rock and sing to you.
I don't care if I sound like one of those moms. You are my beautiful boy, and you make my heart sing. I love your curls, your dimples and your funny little personality. As your papa said just the other morning, "Charlie, you are charming and you don't even know it." It's those dimples, I tell you. They're killers.
We love you, our sweet, spirited and stubborn boy, and can't wait to see what the next year brings. Happy birthday, handsome.