Dear Sofia,
You are TWO!! It happened almost three months ago (but is technically still accurate), and I'm sorry I haven't updated this before now. Things in the States have been pretty crazy since we got back. We stayed with Ama (Grandma) and Mister Day (Dave) for a few weeks until I found a job and we found our very own apartment. We looked at about a hundred (apartments, not jobs; there are no jobs) but this one was perfect. It has exposed brick and hardwood floors and I've only seen a mouse one time and it was on my birthday so I'm pretty sure it was your Papa Skip saying hello. But don't mention anything about that to Grandma, k?
You are talking up a storm now, and we can even understand most of what you're trying to say. You get really ticked off when we can't, and you just keep repeating the same thing like a Small Town American trying to communicate with a foreigner. In our defense, some of your words (coche, mas, ten, leche) are still in Spanish so the combination throws us off a bit. Right now you're obsessed with two, so you have to have two of everything. It's slightly awkward when you show up at daycare wearing two panties, two sweaters, and two pairs of pants, but it seriously works in your favor when it's time for a treat. You say "please" so sweetly that it's pretty much impossible to resist. Let's hope it doesn't lead to childhood obesity.
You can sing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star," although you sort of ad lib some of the words, which is completely hereditary.
On Tuesdays, Ama picks you up from school early and takes you to her house. As far as I can tell, you spend your time there trying on her shoes, folding her dish towels, and eating all kinds of special treats that I'm not supposed to know about.
Since we've been in St. Louis, you've been to Grant's Farm, the Botanical Garden, the Zoo, the Tower Grove Farmers' Market, a pumpkin patch, and the wineries.
You love Uncle Bri Bri and Aunt Lauren, and you have a babysitter named Erin who can actually get you to stop crying in five minutes and get you to bed in ten. She's amazing.
After school each day you like to tell me who you played with. For a while there it was an alarmingly all-male cast, but since Christina started you two have been best buddies. Her mom is from India, and she just got back from a visit. I'm thinking your talks of international travel and American verses Continental have bonded you for life.
Papa came for a visit last month. After a long night of trick-or-treating, you were asleep in your stroller when he came through the gate. When he said your name, you opened your eyes but clearly thought you were dreaming. Then he picked you up and you said "Papa?" like it was a question. There wasn't a dry eye in the B gates. He carried you all over that airport like he'd never let you down. And he won't. He's a great daddy, and he's coming to see you again in three weeks. Remind me to stock up the fridge.
About that, I'm well aware of the fact that someday you're going to have all kinds of questions about why Mom and Dad don't live together. I'm hoping this happens before the premenstrual mood swings kick in, but regardless I will tell you this --- I don't think any kid on the planet has ever been more adored by so many people. Please take this piece of information and hold it tight for the rest of your life.
Your favorite things now are playing with legos in the bathtub, practicing your salsa with Papa, taking Lucy for a walk, and putting your babies to bed. Your least favorite things are washing your hair, washing your face, and putting yourself to bed. You still think crackers are cookies, which is awesome. You love to throw heavy objects at Mommy's head, which isn't. The offspring of a former Rams linebacker is in your pre-school class. I'm sure that's his fault.
Mommy's teaching high school now, and we get up super early. Sometimes you shoot out of bed babbling about playing with kids. Other times I get your dressed while you're still snoring. On bad days you throw a fit and Mommy gets to take the morning off to hang out with you. I love those days.
And I love you, pea pot.
xoxo,
Mom
